In a brightening morn, not of terror,
There, thought ran, not of error;
Thought from heaven, it tosses,
And with charming path it crosses.
Trod over lawn to bower,
Experiencing the sun without shower;
Bent down and sat,
Yonder, experienced a guat
But forgot, with recollection recalling all
No more, the stinks of guat to own
For my thoughts made an incline
To teachers; my shrine.
From them I suck wine
But all which is of divine;
Divine that shattered doom
And all round scattered with boom.
I enjoy rivulet from mountain
For it is divine fountain;
I drink glossy dale;
All over with freshly gale.
To you I won't make even single sheer,
For you are so dear;
The fountain;to have older of wine
With it, all to be divine
And I make draughts for zest
Thanks,you led to acme without rest.
Copyright © Dawa Zangpo | Year Posted 2019
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