Tightly the roots cling Onto the limestones, Entwining, piercing The stones eroded And honed by rain and sun In the mountains. On the narrow lands Cleared by the peasants Grow corn and palay, Root crops-cassava, Sweet potato, wild taro- foodstuffs That hardly appease hunger Yet are not enough. The limestones lie aimed On footpaths hidden By the hagunoy in the hills And mountain slopes, Daggers That to soles calloused by hardship Are footholds leading To crops and huts That stand far apart from each other, to wells That heave and splash like rivers. Through secret passes Rushes the water From the mountains That roar with gathered strength. Now the wells being opened Multiply, The limestones further sharpen With every lively footstep That clears new paths   Towards wild growths Watched by the dalawidaw. Firmly the Red fighters Take root In the peasant masses. Poverty is utterly harsh Yet the trees tower Their bared roots As hard as the limestones.   (E.P.)