Tired workmen by the pavement bustle,
lazily watching the office workers hustle,
too tired to jump into the queue,
they just stare, as if without a clue
little children late from school,
push up to use their only tool,
they pinch the tout and cry 'we are cold, and thats so true'
till he shouts out 'you, you and you'
the jostling and hustling becomes a bit too much,
the tout begs as some young men luch,
'please let the night workers and prostitutes depart,
we will all get home, if you let me play my part'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem