A stroll every day and night,
I walk pushing the barrow,
I pick up things all lying in sight,
In lanes wide and narrow.
Tonight, I walk up that hill alone
Washed the barrow and cleansed myself,
My little sisters asked in fun,
To get those stars for their shelf.
I walk silently, when all in slumber,
Stars sparkling so many in number,
I softly, slowly pluck them from the sky,
They’re gifts for them, the angels of my.
The moon and the sky have so many,
They wouldn’t mind if I’d borrow a few,
They know, as I take down, those special ones,
I don’t have money to buy them anything else.