The motherless child

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  • Emotional

    The motherless child

    He sat by the well
    wearing tartered trousers
    which his mother made
    that was a long time ago
    now she has left him
    gone to the great beyond
    taking with her everything
    his heart mind body and soul

    His hair was as rough as a mad man's
    he had no shirt and slept in the dew
    he went into the bush barefooted
    looking for something to eat
    someone threw away broken bottles
    not knowing he would pass that way
    oh! what a pity
    he cut himself
    and bled to death
    with no mother , no doctor, no friend!

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    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    wadesugar’s Poems (1)

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