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From the Roots
I’m from a little town where I never had to worry about the next meal, from a cream colored house with unlocked doors.
A town consisting of prim and proper,
where people belong to country clubs and drink champagne without purpose.
Homegrown from laughter circulating outside,
rather than piercing gunshots.
I’m from a little town where people complain about having a part-time job, from a house where my mother doesn’t have to work.
A town where people believe money grows on trees,
spending it like it’s water.
Homegrown from silver spoons,
and being reminded that “elbows on the table isn’t proper etiquette.”
I’m from a little town where my roots were formed.
A town that taught me to appreciate the life I was given.
Homegrown from a white picket fence, a town that applies to the theory that “the grass is always greener on the other side”.
Hartland is the other side.
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