He prayed, it wasn't my religion.
He ate, it wasn't what I ate.
He spoke, it wasn't my language.
He dressed, it wasn't what I wore.
He took my hand, it wasn't the color of mine.
But when he laughed, it was how I laughed,
and when he cried, it was how I cried.
- Amy Maddox, "Underneath we're all the same."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
I just found your blog and wanted to introduce myself. I call myself AspieMom on my blog, but almost went with AspieMama. Hi!
Post a Comment