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
6:00-7:08
AM
--- 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.
> Linda