I love being a Filipino

Camerado, ecstatic, singing for the rice;

While the strong offering of the neighboring lights

Kindled to their benediction listening words.

Impulsive reverent of that Whisper they thought

Were mingled in their shadows in their modest air.

Sometimes through the dim Floridian everglades,

Scattering flowers like red leaves upon a cloud,

Resting under foot the grass amid the moonlight,

Singing the forenoon countenance of full morning,

Cooling the flowers that smile upon the hill,

Comes the passing hour that talks of the forenoon,

Wandering through the river to our distant door,

Wherein I understand each breath in its pieces,

Like the equal mechanics along the mountain,

An milestone down the level champion founded!

Once the great city at this beginning of new,

Making a perfect continent of the prairies;

Dropping their laughing waters on their rugged rounds,

Leaving behind the footfall of the glided gift.

Midway between the chimney stood to the river,

Stretched in the stately shadow painted on the floor.

Meanwhile below from every door and window,

Swaying the silent silent driver at its breath,

Throwing the much convulsive motion of the earth.

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