She is that running water,
At bottom, I as a stone flatly lie,
Moved a little when she comes flooding.
A traveler bound for oceanic pleasures,
Her speed is not one to be caught up.
Her cravings take her higher to join the cloud,
I can only hope she will not be consumed by a remote soil,
But pass by me unless I realize my triviality among mounds of sand.
by Noru Sherpa