She, in faded frayed rags,
Sells mini plastic flags:
Symbols of our freedom,
The pride of our nation,
To the people in shining cars on the street
With untidy hands, brassy hair
and grubby but never-get-tired feet,
Her face a withered flower
And she an incarnation of deadly hunger,
Still, in her eyes hope flickers
That one day she'll will defeat hunger
And her face will shine like a lovely flower
With a flag of her own
Flying to the tune of the free wind
On the roof of her home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem