A warm tweed jacket, made in Tibet
A treasure made by my fathers skinny hands
A man of love, courage, and brave heart.
My father passed unexpectedly in glory
In our desolate region of snow and I morn
'O thou, that art my light, my life, my way '.
As riders of the dawn, the nomads
In search of the free horseman
Beneath tweed jacket hope spreads.
Like the self-luminous star, or the reflective sun lights
On the starred sky, and immortal mind-
Father’s life glories in twilight’s delights.