She takes her broom to wildly sweep.
Keeping an occasional eye on the sky
With a personal look at her dust heap
She remains dauntless, shy and spry.
Locals might see her as joyful regardless.
Of how abruptly they scorn-project.
But she just sweeps again in fairness.
There are no excuses disclosed - inspect.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem