You sit by the edge of the road,
in the dark your tiny frame is unknown.
It’s dark and it’s getting cold,
but you have to sit there even if you feel all alone.
Back home they are waiting,
and for them you brave the biting cold.
The scarf is tightly wrapped around your head,
you are arranging the fruits that are hard to see.
But you go on,
for there’s no use complaining.
Why fight for something,
that the world says will only be your undoing?