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?