Water
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Derrick Ch'ng, Grade 6
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Poetry
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2017
I walk every day,
In the scorching sun,
For water,
For which, now, I have none.
I will walk a hundred miles,
Over the sweltering sands,
To get water,
Through the harsh lands.
This was my job,
Since I was eight,
To gather water,
And I loathe it with hate.
My feet burn as I trudge,
My head pounds from the heat,
I sink into the sands,
As I lie down, beat.