My Armor is Made of Earth Material

My skin is sorta brown

—often frowned—

Only if it was white as snow

—not cold though—

Warm upon touch,

a radiant human glow,

my mother wished in despair.

But my eyes too are brown,

So are my hair.

Don’t you frown!

For I’m made of the finest clay, you see,

I’m molded me with the clay;

He molded Earth with—

just perhaps because He knew

you would try to pick me,

you would try to break me,

you would try to char me,

But my skin is a armor forged, you see,

with tried and tested clay.

So as Earth, I stand.