All the young girls are Alice In this, the Year of the Rabbit. For the sun people it might be The Year of the White Rabbit. And because we are all sun people (even the Chinese) We feel comfort After the Year of the Tiger has passed us by; The Tiger whom we did not learn to ride, perhaps. In Western viewpoint eyes It was only a paper tiger, a comet without a tail. In the East, he cast a long shadow but Kept his claws sheathed. Here, in America, they are telling us The sun is shining as brightly as it ever did; The only problem is that we can’t see To breathe. And some, feeling the sun fade slowly into the night Of the dark pollution of the war skies Gaze directly towards the heart of the sun As the embers burn ever more quickly down. And all the girls (and we are all girls, even the Chinese) Follow the White Rabbit, never noticing that The Rabbit took a watch out of its waistcoat pocket And as he ran, he muttered: “Oh dear, I shall be too late . . .” And we who are sisters Watch the setting sun And dream also of Wonderland With our eyes half-closed Half-opened . . . And return to reality As the earth turns ever more slowly (a fact established by the National Science Foundation) . . . but Of course, They use atomic clocks. What time is it, Star?