Good garbage groaning but still burnt of the matches it holds
By the fame it had had from the stench - it scolds
The effects it throws from the heart so cold
With the ways it rays, unlike no man's ever told
And the works it does from its mind reeking of filth
Loaded with junks, maggotted cans of milk, children's teeth
Swollen sheaves alongside chisels for cutting 'em
No poverty person can pass but those stainers on helm
With pale-some face, burning countenance soaked bloods on in
Pains they shield within and laughed well the other day in inn
Ways past their houses give good merits as they share rice
On the inside lies curious cry's, people's money sacked thrice
The garbage remains receptive yet
Its stench might slaughter but
Containers will live to choose soon another set.
©Jodekss Feb/12/2018 4:46 AM
