| Published: Friday 20th May 2005 |
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Poem: A True Story
By a Falun Gong practitioner
I once bought some black pens that would not write,
I thought, “Maybe that’s why they were so cheap.”
Then I was given a new bag to keep,
It fell apart without even a fight. My friend bought new shoes that were a nice sight,
But their side stitching did not run so deep,
And rain water into her socks did seep.
All “Made in China,” I thought in hindsight. When a nation does not value virtue.
People’s hearts quickly grow deformed and gray
What they produce quickly withers away,
As their tiniest parts turn a rotten hue. Though China has made great things over time,
Now the Chinese Communist Party only commits crime.
By a Falun Gong practitioner
I thought, “Maybe that’s why they were so cheap.”
Then I was given a new bag to keep,
It fell apart without even a fight.
But their side stitching did not run so deep,
And rain water into her socks did seep.
All “Made in China,” I thought in hindsight.
People’s hearts quickly grow deformed and gray
What they produce quickly withers away,
As their tiniest parts turn a rotten hue.
Now the Chinese Communist Party only commits crime.
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