By Bill Richmond


Bill Richmond

Gods of the Mountains, Mother of the Plains

You have forged us on the granite of hardship

Toughened us with the test of time

From our Peaks to our Plains

Our happiness and our Pain

Your gifts ,have been shared with the World

Cold winds and dark skies

Sunshine and warm days

Your simple gestures

Have taught us to be simple people

Vengefulness, is an instrument of Man

Not yours.

You remind but do not seek revenge

With the remaining, wilted ,marigolds

And trembling hands

We garland You.

For ,without You ,we are nothing.

There is much pain and sorrow

In the valleys and the mountains

You have wiped our tears before

You will wipe them once more

The cry of an eagle

The wail of a newborn

Sagarmatha ,the sacred sentinel

Will bring back the smiles

To your children

Of the Mountains and the Plains.