Moroccan

By Manar Alagi

Mornings in Morocco are like a dream,

Looking out the window I see.

Children playing and hear the sweet birds sing.

Olive trees left and right, green and ripe,

It's addicting and you can never stop picking.

Racing to the market,

Fresh fish and produce everywhere.

Oh how I miss the market,

Friends and family greeting each other with bliss.

Children enjoying ice cream,

The sweet cream dripping down their wrists.

Cars speeding from left to right,

Have no fear they always look both ways.

And the ocean, oh how I miss it,

The cool breeze running through my hair.

Nothing can compare to Morocco,

I love being Moroccan.