This is a multi-part message in MIME format.
--------------787422FC38EA
-- Regards, Mark Jones majones@netcomuk.co.uk--------------787422FC38EA
Date: Fri, 17 Jan 1997 22:26:11 +0000 From: MA&NG Jones <majones@netcomuk.co.uk> Reply-To: majones@netcomuk.co.uk To: U17043@UICVM.UIC.EDU Subject: Re: neutopia solicited re: WWW kondratiev-catastrophe curves References: <199701172204.PAA09189@csf.Colorado.EDU>
Harmonious Cloud's verses to Genghis-khan
Arrow-sharp cut the wind through Tiên Shan, The moon shone white as the fleece of the ram. My sorrowing tears wet my horse's mane, But east of Iron Gate Pass our only gain Was the hiss on hiss of sands that slashed My face, while north winds coiled and crashed And the pale grass whistled and moaned beneath; Thus was I brought through bleak desert and heath. Crossing the desert we saw each red dawn, Each sunset we greeted vast night reborn. To come here you brought me ten thousand leagues! What use is fame, that is bought with intrigues? Yet now I keep in the vault of the world And now you are leaving, in battle hurled. The sky in the eighth month is full of snow; Like spring winds that blossoms from pear trees blow, When thousands and tens of thousands of trees Scatter fragrant blooms that waft in the breeze, That fill the air in the orchards around, And lie in white carpets over the ground, So the unlooked-for sudden blizzard shrieks Unrelenting and vile for weeks and weeks, It coats the damp bed-curtains, frosts the felt, Chills the fox-fur, stiffens the padded quilt. My lord it was who brought and forsook me, Not for another but war's gallantry. Strong is he whose hand the wind catches, Who stole my soul, yet no blame attaches. Now ice clenches my lord's iron cuirass. Ice hangs from walls, yard on yard in a mass. The archers cannot draw the horn-spliced bow, And the freezing spear is too cold to throw. Above us snow-packed clouds loom stark and drear, But word has come that the passes are clear. In the camp we drink to departing guests, Pi-pa, violin, Tibetan flute arrests The gloom, though evening snow falls on the gate And wind tears the banners frozen in state. At the parting we shall say what we can To cheer you on the road to Tiên Shan, Snow-filled and twisting it takes you from sight, Soon all that is left are hoof prints and night. But my lord is my life, I wait his word. In his heart I dwell like a caged bird, This dwelling will ever my kingdom be, And in it he'll always be ruled by me!
Daniel A. Foss wrote: > > Dear WWW, > >[snip}
I feel you two should know each other. Tu-wit, tu-woo. Woo.
--
Regards, Mark Jones majones@netcomuk.co.uk
--------------787422FC38EA--