There she was,
In the middle of the traffic jam
Mogra necklaces threading through her fingers,
Brown curls dancing with the wind,
She jumped about, looking into every window,
Sparkling eyes tugged back with mischief,
A smile shimmering on her dark face,
Trying her best to beseech.
But every time she met with frowns,
No no, they said, we need no flowers.
She sprinted off to the next unsmiling window,
Leaving them screaming into phones.
The light turned green, she had made no sale,
That’s okay, she thought, it will turn red again.
The unhappy rich will smile this time.
Her smile shimmered brighter in the hot sun,
As she played with her friends and flowers.
The next signal was hope again.
Image sourced from here