Among the starry schemes and bright
Plateaus of foggy mountain peaks,
A master and his pupil made
Their way towards the dragon’s grot.
As both the sage and student fought
To climb the snowy mountaintop,
A storm descended on the twain
With howling gales and hellish rains.
In fear, and desperate for rest
– sweet solace from the storm – the boy
Sought shelter in the dark defiles;
He quickly found a narrow space.
“Let us take shelter in those recesses,
The elements are stern tonight.
“Let us make fire and gather round
The warmth, until the storm subsides.”
Though eager still to make the climb,
The master did agree to rest.
They made their way towards a cave
Which seemed to offer solace.
Alone, and sheltered from the storm,
They lit a fire to warm their limbs.
The humble flames crackled away;
The elements raged on outside.
The master peered across the fire,
Watching his student pondering.
Not a stir could be heard, save for
The crackling of the humble flames.
Amid the calm, the student raised
His head and met the master’s eyes:
The old sage sat there silently,
His eyes shining across the flames.
“What most men fear more than the storm,
Is the quiet,” declared the sage.
He stood up, then both the sage
And pupil walked into the storm.