The Poet

Hurrah! Red flags blazing across the sky,
Cadres, swarming over the mountain slopes,
Only, through toil, shall our barren hill die;
Then shall they fertile fruit for our hopes.
Comrades, seek wisdom from our long struggles;
To cure that cruel disease, don’t kill the man.
Don’t blame speakers, be warned by their fables;
Judge self and friend alike, fighting red van.
In our last hours, backed up against the wall,
Stand strong, with spear and hoe, resist we must.
And if, by chance, moving forward we fall;
No cruel demons shall dare trample our dust.
Ever forward, men, red banners waving.
Let cries, “Serve the People” forever ring.