This poem was sent to us by Lisa Chen from China.

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Murder

In the high high sky,
There's a great great sun,
On the wide wide ground,
Here's an up-pointing gun.

Here's the gun,
Here in my hand,
Pointing at that sun,
An invisible sun.

Is that a bomb?
Is that a catch?
What does it plan?
Where does it land?
- the invisible sun

POINT, SHOOT and DONE

I lay in the sun,
I died in the sun,
Dying with my gun,
The one I shot the sun.

Hey, this is a MURDER.

Lisa Chen

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