I am from The Lily of the Valley,
where the overgrown spring grass tickles my feet.
I am from the apple trees in my backyard,
that transformed into a mighty fortress.
I am from the front porch swing,
and the breeze hitting my face
while I sipped iced tea.

I am the gentle hum of the summer cicada,
      and the glow of a thousand lightning bugs.
   I am the daughter of high school sweethearts,
and abandoned dreams.
I am the patriotic flag fluttering in the wind,
that calls to all who sacrificed...
                 
                                I am from the place with nosy Nancys,
and unkept secrets.
I am from the “I love you a-lottle.”,
and pirouettes around my mother's thumb.
I am from the oozing mud of the creek,
and the bluegill that won’t take the bait,
the father with no sons.

I am the sweet summer peach,
and the ten verses teaching me how to be.
I am the granddaughter of a preacher man,
and the satisfied stuffed belly of Sunday lunch.
I am the laughter of a family of nine and four,
and the roar of boisterous voices...

I am from the farmland of Indiana
and now the trees and greenery of Wisconsin
I am from the dust of harvest on my face,
to the numbing bite of a long winter.
I am from the class of only 67,
and now more than I can count.

I am The Lily of the Valley,
and the overgrown spring grass.
I am the apple trees in my backyard,
and the gentle breeze.
I am all these things that made me,
me.