Today, I shall sit in my garden.

A singer of some renown in my beloved Tibet, my contented song has become a lament. Love has come and, rejected in my pride, flown to distant battlefields and there perished - or vanished. Who knows which?

Tomorrow, I ride in caravan for that distant battlefield, seeking for some clue as to love's abode.

But while the birds sing of happier days, and the small stream bubbles merrily in the morning sun...

Today, I shall sit in my garden.