Eastern Solitude Poem by Michael Cochrane

A clear moon climbs over the Tibetan range of mountains, the sky is glowing. I blow out the candle to enjoy its glow. At dawn I start my journey, through valley after valley. A mist flows softly above, below the river snakes along. My ears hear faint chants and I arrive at the temple, incense fills the air among monks in robes, reflecting in meditation in this ancient solitude of the world of gongs and bells and prayer.
Michael Cochrane ©