Roots


"The life I live is not what I desire,"
said the girl sitting upon the tree stump.
"I am the daughter of a milking maid,
and I know my father will never come.
I live at the base of this very hill;
my home's terribly small and prone to theft.
To me it looks like every other home
in this village that I have not once left.

"If I could have my way I would escape-
flee the village and kiss my house goodbye.
My mother would be in tears, I am sure,
but she is used to being left behind.
Through the forest I would run 'till I reach
the city that my dreams have always shown.
There I'd find the life for which I long
and forget everything I've ever known."

"Surely you are an ungrateful child,"
said the old gnarled stump she sat upon.
"You may dream of living a better life,
but you will miss what you have once it's gone.
Do not forget the place from whence you came,
for your beginnings make up who you are.
Your roots will give you support on the ground
as you make your ascent up to the stars."

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