Filled with youngsters – fourteen or seventeen;
Searching lights were fastened into places;
The admonishment to Mr. Noonan does quite persist.
Where the young ones were inhabited
Comes along with shackled chain with gruesome bolts.
Those who were characterized of vanity
Should be spurn out to a hell of den.
Trained by honour with a pinch of reluctant faith,
These children of tomorrow should never be expected to come home.
Rather to be persuaded by authority – pursuit Mr. Noonan sprinted to his suit,
To wrest the poor girl with such indignation.
Series of whining would be heard at the strike of dusk,
While dead rhymes of the chains resounding all throughout the dawn.
Should I nag Mr. Noonan for what he had done?
Either be placed on a torment, or be feasted by the maggots of his vengeance.
The creed of mine feuded me in a hell of a time,
Caused by him who hoarded the poor little ones.
I was hankered by such damnation, for which I myself, could never overcome;
Should never I, could ever comply.
Falls of tears flooded Mr. Noonan’s den,
Which came an instance, craved by authorities.
One thing was for sure wished by the children,
That a day would come that they would fledged out of Noonan’s tightened grip.
No comments:
Post a Comment