Poetry about I love the community.

every day

I saw an old woman picking up rubbish.

Bow down, carrying a basket and holding long pliers.

The mites hobbled along with broken steps.

Walking in the trash can of the community

Rummaging through an empty bottle and a piece of scrap metal.

In her eyes, even the smallest thing is valuable.

The old woman said, "I want to make a living by selling it."

every day

See some disabled children

Sit cross-legged on a futon

Looking at a broken bowl

Look blankly at passers-by

Silently expecting every sympathy coin.

Look forward to every charity.

They said, "dignity and survival, we choose to survive."

every day

Saw a group of migrant workers

Sweating in rags, chewing pickles and radish strips.

In the hot sun, in the storm.

Do heavy work

Get a few poor wages.