In the cloud-veiled Himalayan peaks, old firs rise
High where the moss-draped canopies weave
A cute russet panda climbs up beneath the skies
For harvesting the bamboo leaves’ rich treasure.
With coat of flame and rings of brick and white
Climber wraps its plush, warm tail against cold
He is silent yet a skilled acrobat of alpine height
Whose dexterous thumb maintains a steady hold.
When summer warms the high, secluded crest
True mates emerge with high & whistling chirps
Deep in a hollow tree, the mother weaves a nest
Enfolding the blind, soft cubs in moss and twigs.
Though fragile turns branch on which they thrive
Their fierce, sweet grace keeps ancient lines alive.
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