The doorman stands outside the grand building
Immaculately dressed, red tie to his shining shoes and his ring
Solitary, just like the building, not noticed by the daily passers-by
A lonely old man trying to earn his keep, he really tries
Buskers are colorful people, vibrant and free
A chirpy old soul danced and sang his Waltzing Matilda around a tree
Whistling and skipping, with his puppet on a string in tow
Children gleefully clapped and danced to the show
Further down, a lady in boots and jeans, a violin snuggled to her neck
Sweet, lilting melodies float down the street, with nary a note out of whack
Folks, some standing and others sitting, enjoyed this respite from their daily bustle
Gave generously in appreciation for her trouble
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem