It's not that they want to be old in the future
It is such a rain or shine to work on the streets
It's not that they're born to be hard-working
It is such a conscientious work in their own posts
If not forced by life
Who wants to get up early in front of the door of people's smelly smells of poverty
If not to lighten the burden on the children
Who wants to wear the stars and wear the moon in the joy of the heavens along the street
In the spring of flower viewing
In the summer when it rains heavily
In the autumn when the falling trees fall
In the winter of the smog frenzy
Tirelessly
Send clean blessings to the lights of thousands of homes
In the shadows
For the traffic, the sound of peace and happiness
They are the city's proud yellow roses
They are the most beautiful road angels in the city
They meticulously picked up the tiles and carried them spotlessly
They radiate the radiant residual heat of twilight
