As the gold of your land
sparkles in the light of the sun,
revel in the brown of your skin.
It was meant to be.
When the rain finally falls,
see how the leaves rejoice.
They flutter to its tune
Knowing it was meant to be.
Sprinkling cannot produce
Such jovial juice.
With it green is dull and callow,
Seeing it wasn't meant to be.
Revel in the brown of your skin.
Like the gold in your land,
God meant it to be.
May 27, 2003
--- Linda Ty-Casper wrote:
> Nanay would have appreciated this.
> She used to tell us, if God wanted you to
> look the way you wish you do, He would
> have made it so. Brown is gold/golden.
> Done just right, not underbaked or overbaked.
> And that wonderful topping of
> bibingkang malagkit, that's the best brown!!!
> Thanks for sending the poem.