Rod Wood

(London, UK)

China Winds Blow

Like the dream drop gem that glistens and glows,
When the warm sun bends and china winds blow.
Small pieces of time and life are spent and love with its
charms, open wide to be meant,
Gentle murmers, the vibration of cosmos,
no dimensions to perceive,
wharf green and banks of mud,
swastica memorie of hideous bombs,
tearing, ripping guts of people in cascading terror.

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