A Prey Of Losing childhood
A child is laying on the ground
Which is covered of thorns.
Her torn and muddy cloth
Is flying in the wind.
Everyone moves around her
But none of mind is comforting her
Not at least her parent's mind.
The age of playing in the
Lap of mother and
Swinging on father's finger,
The happiness that small jokes
And naughtiness gives,
Tricks to avoid beat
And most valuable memories
Of childhood have lost.
Now her mind
Moves behind certain
Parents and siblings
With a hope of
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