A pastel of the last (24th) song in Franz Schubert's Winterreise.
Yonder stands the village hurdy-gurdy man,
Fingers numb with cold he churns out what he can.
Barefoot on the ice he staggers to and fro.
And his little plate stays empty there below.
No one want to hear him, pass him if they can;
And the mongrels growl around the poor old man.
And he lets them come and go, just as they will,
Churns, his hurdy-gurdy standing never still.
Singular old comrade, shall I with you stay,
Will you to my songs your hurdy-gurdy play?