Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Tweed-Jacket I


With memories fresh in my thoughts
I think about my Mountain home
the corners of my mouth begin to quiver
my smile
dims
My mother, strong and insightful
represented the thread of time
She left the earth swiftly
moving through the needle
of life
Her forehead wrinkles could not be seen
her beauty was as beautiful
as fine woven woolen tweed
looking at her made me feel warm
inside my heart
I somehow knew
the cold winds
were blowing through
Now in Contemplation I tend the Yaks
they graze for awhile and scatter about
tattered tweed woolen jacket keeps me warm
as I listen to the Nomad songs gracing the air
nourished I am, by these
Tibetan plains

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