Toh-Gwan-Tae Poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg

Soft drums beat, shuffling feet,
Toh-gwan-tae, Toh-gwan-tae.

When moon god sends the sun away
And turns the sky to indigo,
On jungle trails the people go
To say goodbye to Toh-gwan-tae.

Ebony chest adorned with gold,
His robe, fine spun, in fiery red,
Laid upon his funeral bed,
The village chieftain, Toh-gwan-tae.

On proud young shoulders he is borne,
His history now part of the lore.
In praise and honour voices soar.
Valiant warrior, Toh-gwan-tae.

Soft drums beat, shuffling feet.
Toh-gwan-tae, Toh-gwan-tae.

At last they reach the mountain peak
Wherein the sun god lies asleep.
Into the lava wives now leap
To serve their lord, brave Toh-gwan-tae.

The ceremony ends with the rising sun.
The chief is consigned to the flame,
Back to his god from whence he came.
The wheel of life is once more spun.

A cry is heard at the break of day
A child is born, a boy, a king,
Loudly the people chant and sing,
Toh-gwan-tae, toh-gwan-tae.

Wild drums beat, dancing feet,
Toh-gwan-tae, Toh-gwan-tae.