My Loving Lit

It was just impossible for me to make a protest No, no, I did not protest, no, I didn't! When my seven-year-old daughter came and told me she rushed to me, yearns in heartbreak full of her expects as she knows that her father cannot bear such a thing; protesting, so. Anxiously said, daddy, look at, look at these little kids deployed and carrying the loads of waste articles ringing veils; in poetry, I forced to look after their deeds kids from three years to six years Nutritionally deficient, What a tragedy! They are pulling these in a lot of pain and giving their dad and their father is loading them into a rickshaw van. The stream flowed with two eyes but I did not protest No, I didn't. Rather I told her that they would sell them and get some money with that penny will get something to eat; I don't know my loving lit what she thought and leave it.