Who I Am
Born of the roses
And the dogwoods in the South;
One whose ancestral roots
Were originally planted in the land
Of the Scottish.
A little girl only eight years old,
Whose weight and height
Are evenly distributed
When dividing eighty-eight by two.
A cheery little thing that always cried
When rejected for being different;
And was introduced to death at the age of three
But remembers only from the age of eleven
Yet never lets herself fall too far.
Admiring the sister she found brave
And often desiring to hide in the shadows.
That big sister hiding the little one didnâ€™t want to stay,
The little one often a daydreamer and an untamed child
With a heart for the little things in life.
Curious and lightly streaked by rebellion,
And sometimes too stubborn,
Yet with a heart as tender as can be,
And a still small frame,
Causing her to be underestimated.
But always following her heart.