Eventualities of a Crushed Childhood

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How it hurts when thou doth all that thou can

In thy mother's eyes thou art but a botch

Thy neighbor's child stems better; it began. 

He doth this and that, all I cannot catch;

Like hatchling, flight remains one sorry plight, 

When every step is naught; just rather noise,

When every befalling dissolves in far sight,

Till not to fly becometh a tough choice. 

A bird is a bird. He who yearn'th to see,

To journey diverse realms to chase esteem;

Peruse the pages; Life hath such a spree. 

He shalt reach full docks, he who thrives to dream. 

Belittled child sails raging loathsome seas;

He needed his folks hushing such harsh breeze. 


Edited: 07.12.2019

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