THE STORY OF A POET
Version 2
Amidst the hot air stiffened with dust and standing in columns The exhausted sun was blushing feebly The victorious heroes in glittering helmets Were leaning on their tired horses with manes dangling down
The air was hot and stiff with dust. The exhausted sun had lost most of its red. Standing in columns, the victorious heroes in glittering helmets leaned on the limp manes of their tired horses.
His Highness Bogdo,s new Gher was ready. The sacred Emblem had already been enshrined. He suddenly had the ghost of an idea. Before he had even shaken off the dust from his long ride, His Highness issued a proclamation and sent out letters with the greatest of dispatch, inviting the stellar poets of his realm to assemble at his new residence without delay.
The wisest and most talented poets galloped through the passes of a hundred peaceful mountains, forded the shallows of thousands of clear rivers. On strong horses, with worn out and tender hooves, the poets arrived at His Highness,s new home.
Rows of shiny white ghers and generous meals awaited them. They were offered the best mutton, the best wine and airag. Maidens and servants ran to do their bidding. At the junction of three famous rivers, three hundred poets came together. They feasted for three months, hardly putting their goblets down, giving the sun no rest. But the stream of drinks eventually diminished, and the world,s greatest banquet came to an end.
Then His Highness Bogdo issued his Decree. Two hundred and seventy of the invited poets were given gold brocade and silk as a reward for their writing. With his Highness,s blessing, two hundred and seventy grateful poets started home. The ranks of those wearing deels were overcome with joy.
Edited by Lyn Coffin
Amidst the hot air stiffened with dust and standing in columns The exhausted sun was blushing feebly The victorious heroes in glittering helmets Were leaning on their tired horses with manes dangling down
The air was hot and stiff with dust. The exhausted sun had lost most of its red. Standing in columns, the victorious heroes in glittering helmets leaned on the limp manes of their tired horses.
His Highness Bogdo,s new Gher was ready. The sacred Emblem had already been enshrined. He suddenly had the ghost of an idea. Before he had even shaken off the dust from his long ride, His Highness issued a proclamation and sent out letters with the greatest of dispatch, inviting the stellar poets of his realm to assemble at his new residence without delay.
The wisest and most talented poets galloped through the passes of a hundred peaceful mountains, forded the shallows of thousands of clear rivers. On strong horses, with worn out and tender hooves, the poets arrived at His Highness,s new home.
Rows of shiny white ghers and generous meals awaited them. They were offered the best mutton, the best wine and airag. Maidens and servants ran to do their bidding. At the junction of three famous rivers, three hundred poets came together. They feasted for three months, hardly putting their goblets down, giving the sun no rest. But the stream of drinks eventually diminished, and the world,s greatest banquet came to an end.
Then His Highness Bogdo issued his Decree. Two hundred and seventy of the invited poets were given gold brocade and silk as a reward for their writing. With his Highness,s blessing, two hundred and seventy grateful poets started home. The ranks of those wearing deels were overcome with joy.
Edited by Lyn Coffin