Down the purple mountains; Down the snowy ravines ; Down perilous deserted rock lands; They shook their knucklebones on donkeys' rumps; hidden in Kashmir sweet woolens' balls. They strolled away far and long ways, leaving their beloved country in distant sway. Behind they left, part of their soul, part of their heart; goodbye the fluffy valley; goodbye the furry rabbits; goodbye the fancy berries; goodbye the feeble translucent butterflies. All country's flags waved sadly when they vanished away. They since, - watch in the air-, floated with a melancholic air, praying the wind that sole as a guide travels, to find for their prayers a way. By frozen nights and warmly days, they followed the ancient track, by the Ages Silk's Road called, the one that winds on the crest of the hills. Their aerial dancing friend for five days with them went, exhorting the donkeys south, until found he was, in the morning dew of a white chalice flower, Ylang-Ylang flower, I presume, laying down with no more swing, dust into the dust, golden reflect in the shining light, last banner of their remote country. There, no more sparkling wings to watch; There, the tombstone's grave is a chalice; There, the strong cries for the feeble. There, the feeble cares for the strong.

To be continued...