Like a dim dream recalled,
I curse the long-fled past —My native soil two and thirty years gone by.
The red flag rouse the serf, halberd in hand,
While the despot's black talons held his whip aloft.
Bitter sacrifice strengthens bold
Which dares to make sun and moon shine in new skies.
Happy,
I see wave upon wave of paddy and beans,
And all around heroes home-bound in the evening mist.
