Poetic-Verses

Think of the children that cry and weep
too hungry to stand to thirsty to sleep,
does it matter what colour or creed
for just like us when cut they bleed.

Think of their mothers so weak and frail
carrying their bundles along the trails,
never stopping by day to rest or sleep
they just walk on in the scorching heat.

Think of the babies just skin and bone
no milk to drink and no bed or home,
they sit and stare too weak to stand
some held up by their mothers hand.

Think of the children if you can dare
now imagine it's you alone out there.


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Think of the children