Anita Singh 2
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All alone by herself she sat in the darkest corner
Of the end of the street on a closing winter night
Surrounded by the sombre atmosphere of the dying year
She was bereft of an amiable company
As she was an illegitimate child of her parents
She sat brooding on a small stone
Despite the chilly winter breeze that blew
A mere thought of people's countenance
Made her spine tingle with self-confession.
What wrong had she done?
Her interspersed memories of past made her
To despise herself for being born on this earth