Slowly the caravan made its way
Into the village seeking rest for the day;
The mules were laden with huge leather sacks
And a grizzled old man rode one of their backs;
In unison the villagers all turned to stare
At the strange little group and the burdens they bear;
The man suddenly stopped and fell to the ground
And he spoke as the people gathered around;
“My life is ending, I near my last breath
But I have one final plea before my death;”
“Take these treasures back where they came
To that mystical place – Shangri-La is its name.”