Poem By Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
For one so full of sorrow and war-
I think I should have been born in Russia during
a dynasty of tyranny that brought to it’s people a great depression.
It would make more sense because then I could explain why I feel so cold, most of the time-
I would say: ' the weather of my native country is a bloom which has roots embedded in my heart'
And I would have an excuse for being poor,
and at school none of the children would of made fun of my raggedy clothes and sole-less shoes.
It would be as easy as: 'it is her country’s custom to look so tawdry'
And all the trouble at home could have been blamed on the crisis in my homeland-
my critics would have compassion when they say:
'she comes from a broken home and even worse, she was orphaned before she was an adult'
But no, I can’t blame any of my tragedies on the fact that I’m a foreigner in a strange land.
Although sometimes I must admit, I feel like an alien because when I speak I must have a heavy accent since even though I was born and raised in America, no one seems to ever understand me.