Death And Victory

When the seed is buried in the soil

In the heart of the land her mother,

She is not dead, just getting ready for the toil

If it leads to life, her death won't her bother,

This bitter cup she'll drink with pleasure

As it is the way to the most valuable treasure.

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Would nature weep her death in winter

And cry for her egregious fate?

Only asleep, she is not dead, till after

Spring comes to wake her up on that date,

That date of March, of rebirth, of life

Time of glorious victory at the end of strife.

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And when the soil is defiled and poisoned

By the vicious filthy foot of a tyrant,

An eagle with faith whose heart is strengthened

Sure of victory, powerful and gallant,

Pricks his heart and its blood would pour

To wash the soil free forever more.

16/4/99