Torn
Between two oceans I do roam,
unsure which to call my home.
Raised on the west coast, transformed on the east: I know enjoy a lobster feast.
Two seasons: three wet one dry, or four with a summer so short I could cry.
Which do I love more I cannot say, for I love them both in their own way.
Its family and friends that really call. Dividing my time between them all.
A birthday here, a zoom call there; I can't be expected to be everywhere.
Truly, what decides, is what's in my heart and in my mind.
Through memories fond and a bond that is strong I am always at home, wherever I roam, between the two oceans I call my home.
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