When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our
Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal
There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must
take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home.
I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying,
"Bangles, crystal bangles!"
When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,
I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem