Silly poems in high Tibet

One September morning, I trekked up a misty path. All along the way, I could hear Tibetan shepherds sing. I never saw them; just heard the singing. I reached the top and saw a house. A little girl by the door pointed at her mother barbecuing some yak meat nearby. The mother offered me some meat along with some wine. In return, I made a poem for the kid. Hey little Tibet girl, happy-shiny like a pearl. And that dress so pink it makes me blink.