It evolved at a time when writing was generally done on palm leaves, the letters traced by means of a stylus. Thus straight lines were impossible because they would cause the leaf to split. From Meza Mountain's melancholy shade my heart turns home-ward. There Bo tree roots now run with water poured by festive hands. Here gray sands lie about me, desolate.
Thoughts span the wastes that lie between.
Pulsing, throbbing, longing Toward Shwe'bo, seat of victory where Great Bo Daw sits enthroned among the myriad shrines. Deep in obeisance I incline. Sun rays fold me round about when cold winds Whining, mourning, thrusting, Search and chill. No shield I find When sad, disconsolate remembrances come crowding. Here pure, clear waters sound unceasingly.