Vocation

When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by ourlane.     Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystalbangles!"     There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he musttake, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home.     I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying,"Bangles, crystal bangles!"     When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,     I can see through the gate of that house the gardener diggingthe ground.     He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clotheswith dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun orgets wet.     I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden withnobody to stop me from digging.     Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me tobed,     I can see through my open window the watchman walking up anddown.     The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands likea giant with one red eye in its head.     The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow athis side, and never once goes to bed in his life.     I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night,chasing the shadows with my lantern.