Poetry

The Day I Met the Dalai Lama

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The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember what the weather was.

But it was in front of our church,

so it wasn’t raining.

I know that at least.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember how old I was.

But she held my hand,

and I knew Love.

I remember that seed.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

He looked like a small nun.

Not the old fashioned kind;

her only distinguishing marks,

were a large cross and a practical navy skirt.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I might have been mistaken.

I might have met Guanyin,

or the Buddha,

or even Jesus.

 

But, we’ve all seen

the Dalai Lama on TV.

And sometimes,

seeing is believing.

Inside Out

Posted on Updated on

Rain-drops

 

It is wet, wet, wet outside,

and so I’m listening inside.

Sara Kay