The Ballad of the "Bataan Boy"

Down was creeping in the east,
Dewdrops mingled with the mist,
When he left the place he missed,
To join the list.

He was senior, with a ball,
Five feet and ten inches tall;
He saw twenty-one summers all,
Before the call.

With a knapsack on his back,
And some foodstuff in his pack,
Sisters kissed him with a smack,
And wished "Goodluck".

As he stood on the pier,
Every loved one shed a tear,
But he whispered not to fear,
For God will care.

There, they fought in Bataan,
Till they starved and lost their guns;
Foes had bombs and better arms,
While they had none.

"Save my soul, save my soul,
O, Lord, please save my soul,"
Was his silent, endless call,
Before their fall.

Back his home, his mother grieved,
With the letter she received;
But until now, she believes
Her son still lives.

Neither a corpse on the ground,
Nor his grave they have found;
Nothing, save a cross is there,
Bearing his name.

Today, his heroism rests,
In a lonely stonework, etched;
On the crest of Mt. Samat,
In Bataan...

Memories,memories,
Only petty memories;
Are all we have, deep in our hearts,
About this man.




by: Maria Luisa Tejero Torrento