We have a big home called "World", 
Where everyone we meet is a stranger, 
But we've good playmates; as we share
Good rapport with the street dogs. 

Though we pick up the rubbish, 
Down on your street, 
We're never thanked for our deed, 
Instead foul words we receive. 

We're neither the destiny's children, 
Nor have a fate so big, 
But we can change our world, 
If given a chance we badly need. 

Kudos to the people, 
Who dwell us only on speech, 
They say, " We're the country's future", 
In reality we're the same old bloody leech. 

We live and sleep on the streets, 
Yes, we're the street pickers, 
Far from a good home, 
Far from a good future. 

.    .    .