In the corner of a room Clustered only with a rusty stove And an old bed, A tattered book he read to his sister Trying to put her to bed. The day had been long He had to cook with Baba And clean and dust, The woman of the house Had lads she could trust At night Baba watched over the neighborhood And him, over their humble abode For his earnest parents This was his gentle ode Finally came home Mommy Who was playing nanny To another little angel Whose parents took turns too Earning their hefty packages
Be proud Of what you are Weird, you may be Even funny, so it be But that's what you are! Be proud Of the whacky gest That makes you YOU Because even under layers of makeup It will still find you. Be proud Of that habit of yours that bugs others But that defines you as YOU Others' opinion is not your problem Unless you let it confine you. Be proud Of the stupid poems you write That give you a high Celebrate YOU, for models, Take Luna Lovegood and Rosesh Sarabhai.