Silly poems in high Tibet
One September morning, I trekked up a misty path. Along the way, I could hear Tibetan shepherds sing. I never saw them; just heard the singing. I reached the top and saw a house. A little girl by the door pointed at her mother who was grilling some meat. Mother offered me some with wine. The wine was strong. In return, I made a poem for the kid. Apologies to Li Bai.
Hey little Tibet girl,
shiny like a pearl.
And that dress so pink,
makes me blink.
