.png)
In Cuba's shadow, a nation's plight,
A tyrant's reign, a dismal night.
But from the darkness, a hero rose,
Che Guevara, a defiant pose.
Batista's grip, a brutal chain,
Inflicted pain, a cruel domain.
The streets echoed with sorrow's sound,
Yet hope ignited, on sacred ground.
With fiery heart and fearless might,
Che led the charge, a beacon of light.
Santa Clara's streets, a battle's stage,
A clash of wills, a historic age.
A train derailed, a tactical blow,
The tyrant's power began to grow.
The rebels fought, with courage bold,
Their spirits soaring, stories untold.
"Hasta la victoria siempre!" he'd cry,
A battle cry that pierced the sky.
The city fell, a victory won,
A new dawn breaking, a brighter sun.
Che's legacy, a timeless art,
A hero's spirit, pure of heart.
His name resounds, a symbol of hope,
A beacon shining, a steadfast scope.
No comments:
Post a Comment