Balanced on an apple-crate
I ply my trade for young and old
making merry for their passing smiles.

Standing on a picnic bench
I stand the heat and brave the cold
heedless of the tired legs and miles.

Stopping, standing in the park
or on a sidewalk, I presume
laughs and grins to bring to someone's day.

Bowing humbly at applause
I tip my forlorn, empty hat
and wish a silver coin or two my way.