A place filled with terracotta..
My feet touch Africa of the north..
i greet the leaves
I'm welcome by its people
in alley ways where bikes
and tourists squeeze for space
rows of pretty wants and
little mirrors entice my artistic mind
a place filled with terracotta
each wall caressed by the hands of man
tiles so mathematical and aligned
though a stranger to this land
i imagine i know it well
the pace moves easy
yet the city has its own hustle
little ones with tissues
arms stretched out and pleading
eye contact will surly be my weakness
no amount of coins
can really fulfill my giving heart
with poverty in my pocket
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