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He sat still on the rickety bed,
Pillow soaked with every tear.
His sweaty palms stuck on his forehead,
Weeping silently so no mistress could hear.
The dim streetlights peeked through frosted glass,
And the raging rain poured onto the deserted street.
He glared at the pocket watch- made from brass,
As his eyes filled with sorrow and defeat.
He remembers the day he lost her,
His mother now lays in peace,
Has become nothing but a memory gone a blur,
His cold arms took refuge in his fleece.
The dormitory walls were closing in,
His silent cries drown in the crisp breeze,
His misery absorbed into his skin,
His mind could not fathom with ease.
Day in and day out,
There is nothing but gloom,
It’s his future he frets about,
Whilst clutching his heirloom.
Dawn breaks as they get back to work.
Sweeping chimneys and washing walls,
In the dark narrow tunnel do they lurk,
Covered in soot until dusk falls.
Scouting up and down the hallway stair,
Do Oliver and other boys venture,
Their hearts cry in despair,
Forgetting their family is something they wouldn’t dare.
Forgetting their family is an orphan’s sin,
So a boy ended his life to go and meet them.
Blood smeared on his delicate chin,
And so young Oliver lies like a rose without its stem.
A bitter tear wiped off his cheek,
Thinking about another loved dead.
Rain falling like his tears on the filthy floorboards,
He sat on the rickety bed.
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