I sat, wailful
Eager for the fog to usher the day's decline
A spell for hairs and leaves to dance
Welcome the restraint of a cold and lazy evening
This vagabond procrastinates
Of seeking to depart in a less traveled trail
A prurient glimpse of Malindang's requite
To plod upon it's mighty bosom
And leave empty, forsaken vistages
In the thick of moonlight stares
And the pitching stairs of Hoyohoy's warm soil
Prates I heard from old trailblazers
I fret at the mosquitoes feasting on my skin
Bewitched by the charm of sardine smell
Tomorrow once more is Phoebus' turn
Scrape my back in painful scores
Show off a hitchhiker's petulant November tan
While forty other ferines each carve their own
Glorious treasures of mud, sweat, soap and stones
I laugh at my bliss, my honest wish
To find my faithful love and consolation
Fables and daydreams already in my knapsack
Itching from its intimate, cumbrous weight
I stood up and pat the haze with my hand
