When the monsoon's done with ocean's lores

and mountains don't feel cold any more

For the blanket of snow glows warm and soft

and rivers now flow so light, so loft

the wheels of iron they rotate no more;

an entire nation sheds its load.

From the mountain hut a maiden emerges

beyond the lake and Druk Xo's gorges

Under the tree (now centuries old)

she comes and lights a sun of gold

and children come and hear their tales

how once a light from heavens fell

though they don't get what man has etched

they will read what the stars sketch

and in this night, so warm and bright

when times have written their faces alight

Faraway travellers on land see stars-

and how they wonder, what we are.