Born of high estate,
Existed quite not so late.
With no own parkland,
In a small island.

Playing lonely a game “I spy”,
Feeling so alone is I.
Finding the soul in me,
Leaning against some tree.

Unable to make a stand,
With no chances of helping hands.
Left to no energy for fight,
No matter how much might.

And as the bells rung,
No water left on the tongue.
In the dreams see a hall,
Completely pictured no door.

The streets with folks,
And the cement broke.
No one to guide myself along,
No warnings of getting strong.

Though the light is brightening,
The lightning is still striking.
Lost all sense of pride,
Falling out of sight.

Clueless of the seasons that follow suit,
As the trees starting dropping fruits.