Listen to the scream of the bud.
Could any see the tiny heart's crud?
Birds,Fawns,flowers,lambs bloom.
A holy child I' am in a gloom.
A blooming bud and naive,
Yet the wise men gifted a churlish heave
My heart torned with a hurricane cleave,
I stood with a throbbing greave.
Alas,Alas, no longer a knowledge den,
I scorn from this glen.
Ah,i can't hold a quill pen.
O Lawmen save me from the den.
O Wise men, look at my briny eyes,
trembling hands and shivering legs.
O elders,my heart flutter with ache,
For the tyrant wrath i taste
O' the scholars,what ye preach
Song of love or anguish tone?
O the mentors,what ye teach?
Wisdom words or boorish note?
I hopped and sprawled to learn,
Alas, I sensed only the spurn.
O wise men,let them smile and seek
Never let them wail and weep.
(This is a poem on corporal punishment.)
