Hong Kong People. A poem.

The deepest people, who tread carefully and eat well.
Three years here has taught me that maybe they smell,
The roses less often than maybe they aught.
We plough the ground with our eyes and work without thought.

But I aspire to acquire sutch a delicate face,
Petal-lipped, almond-eyed, moon-faced race!
But instead of good looks I've acquired with ease,
A bullet-proof soul, my heart is Chinese.

None stronger, non deeper though not as high or as broad,
With a chest thats a cannon and a mouth thats a sword.
With true love till I die I offer a toast.
To the country and people Mr.Thomas loves most.