Radio was a fine storage to keep
Scarce charcoal for our icy stoves,
In a war time we needed to store
As the Chinese were fast coming
At the border , across snow hills.
What Chinese did with their radio
Was their business but generally
They loved propaganda to a fault
And we said indie chini were bros.
Then they smiled their fine eyes
Crinkled in a brotherly approval.
And soon we would stab each other
And so we would need no charcoal.
Our soldiers were soon charcoal
Of patriotic songs and war news
And years that had turned fingers
Were duly writ in powdery snows,
Having writ , moved on like radio.