It is a cramped little state with no foreign policy,
Save to be thought inoffensive. The grammar of the language
Has never been fathomed, owing to the national habit
Of allowing each sentence to trail off in confusion.
For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident;
I set out to write this poem and I had a simple plan.
I'd avoid all things prosaic and I'd do the best I can
To optimize the content and the grammar and the rhyme
And of course I'd tell a story that would echo for all time
'Oh, Jesus, ” I am at your door steps and accept my prayers “small girl lit candles in the church and just cried while looking at the cross of lord.” How much you have suffered for mankind” she murmured and stared at the glittering eyes of Christ. She was at the highest peak of happiness and knell down to have more blessings from Him.
The little child never knew what was in store for her. A little noise from near by just detracted her attention from Christ and she found some one was pouring kerosene on her head. She was completely shocked and soon found to be wet in kerosene. She only saw flash from match stick and found burring in flames. She found Christ just extending his hand. Soon she was in flames and crashing on the ground.” help, help' came the groaning voice from little child and all the children from orphanage made a frantic cry for help. The child was rushed to hospital with unconscious state of mind with no hope of survival.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and, till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
It feels a shame to be Alive—
When Men so brave—are dead—
In this tradition of hypocrisy,
Rich sea of shams,
Virtue hides behind sanctimony,
Watch dogs are drooling at the prize,
So long as the blade has not
Cut off that brain,
That white, green and fatty parcel,