Commandante Fidel

His songs are of the mountains and his people
Who forged him as their steel sword
When together they unbent their knees
And cast aside the foreign lord. His poems are of the palm tree and pine
Which nourished in him a love for the land
When together they drove out the serpents
And took up weapons and flowers in hand. His soul is working people's passion for Justice
who fight o'er the world to be free
When plague and pestilence so near at hand
Still threaten humanity's destiny. His heart is a woman's love, without chains,
who, in her body and mind, is like a tree
when size and color no longer are scorned
And intellect admired can be. In all these things he is one of the people
a son of the soil in the American lands,
From the heart of Bolivar to the dreams of Marti:
It's what the Revolution demands.

by Eugene H. Craig

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