Poetry of scavengers

In the past, whenever I saw a roadside garbage collector, I always held my nose and bypassed him. But through that incident, I was deeply impressed by him. It was a dark summer, and in an instant, bean rain fell from the sky like a broken pearl. I had to run home because I didn't bring my rain gear. On the road, I saw a grandfather who lived for more than 70 years to sweep the road. His bronzed face never smiles. Maybe it is responsible for the work! Without rain gear, he braved the rain to chase the plastic bag that was blown away by the wind. I just stared at him on the side of the road. The wind stopped, and he bent down hard to catch the plastic bag. The wind seems to be teasing him and scraping the bag again. Grandpa knocked on his back again, stood up with difficulty, and grabbed the blown bag again. It is raining harder. I don't know whether I am crying or raining. Grandpa still desperately grabbed the naughty plastic bag. Maybe the wind was moved and it stopped. The bag fell to the ground, and grandpa reached down to grab the plastic bag. He straightened up and didn't know whether it was sweat or rain on his head. However, it is more sweat. He was soaked to the skin and struggled towards the pavilion. He looks older. He almost fell down several times. Tired, he finally fainted to the ground and the plastic bag flew to the sky. I hurried to help grandpa. It's raining harder, and my tears are flowing down again. Grandpa left on that rainy day. But it was on that rainy day that I understood him. Whenever I walk on that road, I always seem to see my grandfather. Every time, I ran to him with tears in my eyes ...