Young clear-voiced dragons in these
gorges howl. Fresh scales born of rock,
they spew froth of fetid rain, breath
heaving, churning up black sinkholes.
Strange new lights glint, and hungry
swords await. This venerable old maw
still hasn't eaten its fill. Ageless teeth
cry a fury of cliffs, cascades gnawing
through these three gorges, gorges
full of jostling and snarling, snarling.
- Meng Chiao (translated by David Hinton)
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