My roots are... the site of raindew running down my window, the smell of lavender floating through the halls, the murmers of Tom&Jerry in the morning
My roots are... the smell of blueberry pancakes and fried apples, the look my mama gives me when I reach up into the cupboard for a glass to have some of the yummy orange juice
My roots are... the way my daddy used to call me his little tweety bird, and his beauty
My roots are... Jeralynn Rose, Moris Orlando, Jerry Kenneth, and Joan Sharon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem