Puck Hee Lee
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Beneath those lofty Kokang peaks,
There is hardly any pleasure to seek.
Faint mule tracks are the only ways
To Kokang's heart by monotonous days.
By monsoon season ways turn to pools,
And skillful riders become fools,
Slipping down with thunderous sound.
When riders and horses fall asunder,
Legs and hands become broken members.
By day the Kunlong Valley bears great heat,
By night mosquitoes wander in great fleets.
But noisy and bright are market days,
When Shan belles don on colours light and gay.
The clumsy movement of ...