As I walk in the streets,
theres this essence that greets.
The shout of a fry,
excited hands catches dry.
These foods neither grill,
every taste there's a thrill.
Tired hands are in rush,
filthy feets never been brush.
No ime for playing,
emty stomach where crying.
They stand with this stalls,
for them, the sun never falls.
They're the road conqueror,
though never been called as emperor.
They're in battle for survival,
yet they believe life is their rival.
They master how to convince,
Yes! these people lived in province.
The baby slept just in dandle,
the moment it wakes she seeks no craddle.
They faught for a living,
penny stands as their savings.
People call them slate,
staring and judging them late.
They are an inspiration,
to reach our point of destination.
Should never underestimate,
They're strong! They work in any climate.
In this I believe,
there's a reason for intrusive.
Different people, different lives.
To sum it all, they knew they strives.
Will this story never end?
Stand firm you will never bend!
In every savour,
they ask no favor.
I learned, we must oar
inorder to soar.
In life while we sail,
remember this entitled...The Street Tale!!!
~ E N D ~
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