up there in the hills, 
there is a valley, amidst the folds,over which the forests roll. 

It collects from icy peaks and dark forests, whispers in the cold winds,
it collects in whispers the story of origin. 

In the valley, 
a prayer wheel chants in spin, 
the forest of flags flutter in the wind,
that carries the story as whispers in the darkness. 


Bayul Demazong.