THE ORPHAN Like a flower bud wanting to bloom A lonely orphan makes this world his playroom He’s in search of the finest toy That gives him the greatest joy He knows no boundaries of time and life Knows not, for a bread he’ll have to strive He eats his meals with no one to feed And to his own conscience pays heed I know for someday he’ll be great And in this world will test his fate Though he’ll earn money And will have friends, mostly phoney He’ll still be like the wing-cut dove Striving to live without any love. copyright) I wrote this poem after watching some T.V programme about orphaned children. I was in tears that time. Please comment and critique on it. Regards Luthier.
