especially in mid-winter

I picture the rose garden

the secret garden of my soul

where all that is good and all that is fine

are written in a tender-script divine

where persian berries tantalise us

and dates from al'andalus tempt us

and the figs are fine and the wine just fine

and chinese herbs help me see

the tibetan plateau  all around me

where all that is, is being free,

the air is rare and the skies so high

while chinese troops are passing by

my temple is my privilige

as my death will be 

for all that I love, I see.