By CHESTER STONE P. BATNAG

Trails we passed create clouds yet jewels in the sky
On huts were roofs of grass yet floors were grounds of wealth
Less tamed are trees and herbs but stomachs never cry
It’s paradise we seek though luxury’s not felt

Veins have rusing current with bronchi’s exercise
Entering the Earth’s crust’s diamond memory
Internal view of Earth has beauty that would rise
Nycto fobia ain’t found in this wonder they see

Trapped in cages of soil through the numbered chat’s roll
Heads are pointing downward allowing legs to crawl
Enjoyed by the natives, in “banga” these would fall
Providing energy with carbo as its wall

Richness of “ginawang” where folks went need such fine
Out of free mountain’s dew, a shelter to each school
Valued sign of life form where purity’s a rule
It worries no wallet if its service one dreams

Native bags he wears while hitting the “gangsa”
Colorful “tapis” worn, “bakget” around her waist
Every face in moon light enjoying “babayas” occasion
Illustrations of joy’s within what elders raised

Simple ways of living yet needs are abundant
Free are things they crave for, served to them by nature
Union with Kabunian’s blessings, providing all they want
No gold nor silver kept but Sagada comport’s for sure. #