Each block finds a place in art

Marcus here. Decided to post this poem of the last day at orphanage. ^^

Each block finds a place in art
Plastic bricks built from their heart

Pencils scratch on papered floors
Draw open life's infinite doors

Folded sheets of nature's wood
Rivet the ceilings with pristine good

Melodic rhymes and nurseric beats
Fill the rooms with alacritous feets

Whispered words with he who reads
Brings to light their daily needs

Plans were buried in sunburnt clay
Innocent musings had swept the day

Everyone's tied by an invisble cord.
Though each orphan's on his own accord.