Thought No One, Left Nowhere
 after Drummer Hodge

They throw in Lee Kum Fang to rest
Where his conical hat was found,
No markings, nothing to attest
His tomb from cool surrounds.
No eyes at carriage windows
Knew his railworks from the ground.

These stars are yet his homeward stars,
Unchanged long days at sea.
Stowaway pocket seed on board
Ensured his homeland tree.
His rhizomes murmured on his name
Through shoots of industry.

One Lee had grown in politics,
Out-hustling old party men;
Another’s inventions stolen
Smacked of burial again.
Another, “No I’m not Japanese!”
Swam varsity, Big Ten.

All portion of this commonwealth
That’s every stitch a Lee.
Quiet by rail and under jet,
Far from the shining sea.
The same old family stars roam west
Over leaves of a foreign tree.