Chapter 7 nostalgia

He is sad. He misses his own happy valley. There, clinging to the bare rock of the cliff, His yak licks leisurely Green grass under the snow line. And on the grassy beach, One of his colts is on all fours, Requisition the shallow water of the river bend Running to the cows on the other side, Hurriedly and coquettishly moaning.... The sun there is heavily glazed. Where the air is filtered by ice and snow, Mixed with sensual cream, leaves of grass Aroma with yeast... - I'm not that Homesick shepherds under street lamps, Sleepwalking in the land where I share my fate?