Round and round and round
the three wheeled cart goes
round and round

It’s just another day

The man at the pedal is worn and brown, the journey of his lifetime etched in the lines of his callused hands.

Up and about, from dawn
Up and about, till dusk
he goes, hawking his hens and a chick.

Round and round and round
on the three wheels of his green cart,
which goes round and round

I saw a little girl today, up and about with the man.
Singing the hawking song.

A red pointy hat on her head.
She was a scrawny little thing,
In a blue sweater and green leggings.
Nimble hands and small bare feet,
grey with dirt,
and chapped skin, sporting a toothy grin.
She had the brightest of eyes,
twinkling and warm and nice,
accepting little tokens from strangers
with the grace of a queen.

If you ask her, she’ll tell
the story of her home,
of her mother and
her two sisters
and a brother long gone;
Of a shooting star and
the night she asked for a wish.

His wares sold,
he prepares to leave.
The little girl at his heels.
She’s smiling a little more,
her eyes are brighter,
and up and about she goes,
singing the hawking song.

The man at the pedal is a father,
an entrepreneur and
a hero to his little daughter.

In exulted tones they sing the hawking song together,

She is a dreamer,
Her eyes again a little brighter,
She is looking back, waving,
Her smile a little bigger
against the setting sun.

The token pencils in her hand,
held tighter.
She’ll draw her dreams tonight.
It was just another day.

Round and round and round again,
The three wheeled green cart goes.
Round and round, to another morrow.

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