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CHILD OF THE ILL




CHILD OF THE ILL
We have lacked the sweetness of a younging society
We were born onto the corridors of poverty
We have no cloths to cover our nakedness
With cold and no cozy we shiver in bitterness
We had no croons from our mothers
No milks in their dry breast as they were bothered

Who can we call upon to our aide?
Our society is ill and has no pity as we fade
We raised our emaciated hands as we entreat
With a mould of dirt mired our feet
Help us; we are too young to die of cranny
We begged till a Santa - Maria gifted us a candy.

IbbWrites©
2019.

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