Orphan modern poetry

Orphan Modern Poetry 1 Anyone will be an orphan.

A dead cat from the river

From a sick dog in the street

A corpse from the battlefield.

I quietly.

Collect the sadness of being an orphan

Like swallowed food.

They appeared in turn.

Expect to meditate

This is my way of life.

From a dead cat's river

From a sick dog street

From the battlefield of a corpse

My dream

Departure to travel

Everyone will be an orphan.

Orphan Modern Poetry 2 Oliver Twist _ Modern Poetry

British isle

The sea lapped against the rocks.

At the college of art

The doctor is busy delivering the baby.

The taste of the poor

I'll always remember.

Who can tell me?

In a country where law and democracy are so solemn.

It's hard to cry about the declaration.

I am confused and wandering between the yang world and the yin world.

If you know the wind and rain in the world

It will look like Mrs. Singh's face.

When the weather is gloomy and there is no sunshine.

I would rather go to heaven with my mother.

I'd rather not be stubborn and lonely like grass.

I'd rather pray to heaven

My name is not Oliver twist.

But I want to thank the state for funding my milk.

I actually own a tenth of it.

But I want to thank the theory that horses don't eat grass.

Let me spend more than 3200 days and nights.

But I want to thank the kind and happy Mrs. Mann.

It allows me to safely avoid a centralized washing.

Look at the weak partner.

No conscience, cherish life less.

A little hungry and cold. I can't stand it.

I can't fall into the fire because of a little thing.

Or get out of bed and kill yourself.

Or die in the cleaning.

See how ridiculous it is?

Really, I don't ask for anything.

Nine years' experience

Although thin and dry.

But steel bars and iron bones

Can withstand numerous comprehensive beatings.

Although short and thin.

But the force is infinite.

Completed the work of adults.

Although pale.

But delicate and lovely

Can attract so many people's love.

Look, Mr Bambur is coming that way.

Hold your beloved cane with both hands.

Pat me gently on the head.

You see, Mrs. Mann is busy as a fiddle.

Love hand on my face.

There is a gale of ten.

I feel my conscience is very bad.

I don't know how to repay you.

Mrs Mann has a motherly heart.

Press carefully.

So fraternity

So meticulous

So selfless

I can't believe I'm hungry

Shocked the supreme Mr. Bambur

How I shouldn't

I even forgot the present Mrs Mann gave me on my ninth birthday.

In the dark coal cellar

My heart is broken

I confess to God.

A permanent member of the parish

He is a sophisticated and wise saint.

There is no doubt that they understand.

I seek self-reliance.

And the urgency of learning a trade.

In the poor workhouse

So I got a job.

So I slept in a hard bed.

So I drank three gruel meals.

So I found my clothes getting bigger and bigger.

So I enjoy a happy life.