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The Philosophers Stone

By Jay Gee

High up in the Tibetan Hills thru snow & ice that easily kills,

Upon a ridge there does but show,

an Ancient Monastery up in the snow,

Thru its gates you can see,

People akin to your family tree,

Wearing clothes of thin attire,

Seemingly calling the cold a liar,

Like inside those Tibetan Walls,

Your mind itself has so many Halls,

So when you know stop & think,

Try & catch that missing link,

Your Brain is inside Bone,

Therein sits the Philosophers Stone.

 JG©2009

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