Their purple mountain majesties and
amber waves of grain
Made me love them so. I’d twirl, I’d
sing, and wave my flag:
Oblivious to the fact the song wasn’t
intended for me.
I often dream I’ve sailed the ocean blue
atop a ship as big as
Imagination to visit the Motherland. I’d
hear her voice and sip
Her wisdom. She’d tell me of my
heritage: Of Kings, Queens,
And Warriors. I in turn would tell her
of my land: a land of the
Noble
free. Where music swelled in the breeze and rang from all
The
trees. But she never believed
me. So we’d argue. And I’d
Wake up—angry every time. She’s
obviously never felt the joy
That floods my soul like a thousand
rivers each time I come into
Contact with my lands’ beauty. Orange
and purple striped Skies
That cups its bosom like an eager
teenager vowing never to let go.
Yet it always does, and my great land is
draped with a curtain of
Flickering lights that wink
flirtatiously through the night until dawn.
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