You are a child of the tropical sun,
Yours is the knowledge of heat
Of rain hastening down like the beat
Of a thousand drums against your car.
You are a child of the bustling city,
Yours is the understanding that time
It races away like a mischievous child
Blowing raspberries from just beyond your grasp.
You are a child of the new millenium,
And you live with the world at your fingertips
One touch and information unfurls
Peoples and places your parents could never imagine.
They joke, these Westerners.
Pull their eyes sideways into slits,
Make puns with your name,
For yours is the future, away from their drizzly cities
And long winter nights, because for you
Spring is neverending.