So many children, hunched and bent,
And reaching at a future dim
Three weeks- already most are spent,
And hope is nothing but a gleam-
What power cursed them in its whim?-
They fight against the sinking bright,
Like beanstalks creeping towards the light.
Not understanding what things meant,
With pupils closed, they splash and swim.
Scarce eighteen years have watched, and sent
Them on their way to reach their dream-
As false and faint to grasp as steam-
They live to taste the sun's delight,
Like beanstalks creeping towards the light.
But can it be at last their end?
Despair and failure are a team-
Between them, many dreams are rent.
One stops the light, the hopeful beam,
The other chills the heart and spleen.
What succour, they, who face the blight-
Those beanstalks creeping towards the light?
Life ever will be in a man
As long as hopes remain as keen.
So many years have now been spent,
And life's purchase not yet redeemed,
But on they stride, and on they dream.
So quick to sprout, and still they fight-
Those beanstalks creeping towards the light.
