The skin of my land is alive with
the colors
of soils of the springtime
and amber of skies.
The ambers of dawn in a crystal blue heaven,
the amber of embers when bright sunlight dies.
The skin of my land is the color of wheat grass
that dances in winds that make soft summer sighs.
The skin of my land is the red of the clay that the summer storm
makes when we say our goodbyes.
The skin of my land is the
floor of the ocean,
the whitest of clouds,
and the blackest of nights.
The skin of my land is a melanin melody.
Blessed the beholders of such divine sights.
Beyond Panic 