Early dawn, the sun’s not out
Farmer takes his carabao
Furrows wait and spread about
Fields to clear, and earth to plow
Hardened life the farmer leads
Forging on, work’s never done
Dawn to dusk, he sweats in beads
Works the land till light is gone
Rising sun, it gets too hot
Peasant hands get thick and rough
There’s no joy when in the pot
Rice and fish are not enough
Harvest comes, he gets a share
But not enough to feed his brood
Left with nothing, help or care
Like the sun, in sinking mood
Planting rice cannot be fun
Farmer can’t afford the price
Planting rice, though eating none…
Like the sun—will hope still rise?
(This poem can be sung to the tune of “Planting rice is never fun,”)
2009
