The Poet

I sing of Brazil, Brazil, Brazil:
African drums pounding in the square,
Many shades of black singing as they dance,
The spirit of Yoruba smiling as we run.

We sing of Brazil:
Marble stone churches, spiraling towards the sky,
Golden gilded walls stolen from our ancestors,
Rainbows of glass flowing forever upward.

We sing of Brazil:
Golden sand flowing, naked beneath the sun,
Stormy waves nestling between your golden thighs,
Sexy palm trees bristling against the wind.

We sing of Brazil:
Fertile jungles dancing with the sweat of the panther,
Shaking vines twisting with a warm embrace,
Sparkling birds glimmering through your lustful bosom.

Oh Brazil, today we caress your sensual thighs,
So that tomorrow our spirits will flow together as one.