I’m from cobblestone streets and warm sweet tea,
And the memories that seem to remind me,
That most things sometimes end sweetly,
I’m from cold December evenings tucked in by a warm crackling fire,
As my great grandmother read me a bed time with true desire,
And those dreams about sweet, warm apple cider,
I’m from hot days in winter, and cold in fall,
The weather starts to fail as a cold snow falls,
As the streets in London freeze over in a winter delight,
And I walk, not bothered with fright,
And then arrive home,
Drunk off of the sweet smells of flowers and sweet, bitter taste of tea,
Knowing soon I have to leave,
And I won’t have a choice,
But I don’t want to go,
I want to stay in London,
Walking the streets of gold,
Knowing this is my town, and this is were I belong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful, great imagery i love it!