Books on arms cradled above their waists,
Umbrellas over heads down to tireless feet,
Wearing slippers on a sun-heated street,
Here! They come as girls of the Gomez's.
Shiny-pomaded hair combed sideways,
Pens clipped between their earlobes,
Jeans' back pockets their notebooks rest,
They, too, were the boys of the Gomez's.
Believe it or not, it was a proven fact,
That rainfall was no longer a myth,
Rizals and the Rectos placed a bet on it,
If you see smile on the Principal's face.
In Room 5, Miss. A. de Guzman awaits,
To find out who's best among the bests.
In her Music, no one needed to belch,
Granting all would pass her English quiz.
Beware of our past teacher's twirling eye,
And her noiseless shoes on the center aisle,
If she says, 'Quiet Class! ' you, Gomez's must,
Or one of us would wear that chalkboard dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem