Junk

 Wind thrust into history
    On a work day in Hong Kong,
Sails set  amidst the storm
    To sing the monsoon song.

How many trips like this
    None alive could tell.
A hundred years transporting
    Lamps and silk to sell.

Old ceramic egg pots
    Hold dead chickens and Bok Choy
There might be a magic box
    To bring one child joy.

In port, all junks together
    Knocking stern to bow.
Seems like just a dream today,
    In the supermarket now.