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epistle
language
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| Pampanga |
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| The Monument by E. C. Turla I see our tongue preserved in gold But what the heck would that thing hold, Save it was once alive and bold Vibrant, but now so dead and cold. A future monument can't take The place of my, oh for God's sake, Inherent language crushed and killed Like dandelion seen as weed Let it then live and sing with glee Like that bluebird up in the tree Better to be heard anyway Than just be history someday To rescue it is much better Than build a monument later So let's keep it alive and well It's not yet late, this we can tell |
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