Salakot

In the bright, unceasing sunshine

And their many glistening rays,

On a clear day pure and fine, 

Where the grand river lays her grace, 

Different hues of green each line

Where the dark carabao may graze. 

Squares of farms full of water. 

Little sticks at the beginning,

Then the green shades become fuller.

In the golden sun, flourishing.

The viridity grows brighter. 

In the tropical rains, growing.

Under the comfort of the shade, 

Bending down over what they made,

Making rice 'til the last rays fade.

Year in, year out, still wide-brimmed.

An umbrella that didn't need

To be held firmly in the wind,

Protecting as they worked to lead

As a symbol in the Southeast

Of a nation, not just a deed.