The cold-ridden skin..
Much sun than the other days.
An old perfume of unknwon vines..
Burns her China eyes.
Her hands in fear makes no move in that queer noon.
Her husbands off to the mines..
That weary face in stains,
when in rage not weary again.
However she misses a count.
The count of the other boy she had.
A son so rare with small soft hair..
His chase was never destined anywhere..
The mother with the blurred eyes..
Frowned at the thought of his broken neck..
The dreadful water lilies..never gave him back.
There lied a distant nightmare upon the railway bridge..
Not spared.
The stream below the with moss despair.
His mother stares.
Her Chinese son reminds her..
Her very own William's 'Lucy'.
A stream passes..
Chemicals pass by..
And a Chinese son's paper boat..
Chants the cries.
The distant son's cries.
People sing by..
Another Chinese day!
