Or how kinder can compassion be,
One knows from you,
Oh consort of the clouded climber!
Arresting, the gleaming eyes or your serene smile
Your vision of faith brightens the vision of the one treading on enticing wretched whites.
As you stride, bearing burdens, not on mind
Touching each moment as magic spells,
I fail in memory of the bunny out of the black hat.
He laughs in tears and cries in smiles
At the bearded man's mumbling words of heart.
Namaste is all he says and describes a world of love
Peak I touch or not, your feet is an astonishing feat of humble pride.
I bow down to you before the mighty majesty
For you are the line that draws the picture of my mind
Not the raised hand that feels the sky close,
But the overwhelmed heart that hugs your mind,
Oh my Sherpa!
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