Down the road at a roundabout
Where traffic lights blink red, yellow and green
Is an assortment of humans
Average height, tall and short
They are here in a farm of some sort
With infant and other children.
And they love the red colour
Of the traffic lights.
They are here with rags doing
Auto cleaning for the teeming traffic
All to eke a living
Their today is gone
And the future of these children doomed!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem