| 英譯： |
The last crop will soon be done
Prospects for the next not known
The old man now takes to rice gruel
And at the year's end has almost no clothes
Birds feed their young by the mossy well
Fowls call from the white board cottage roof
He hitches his lean mare to a decrepit cart
Or, straw shod, feeds his bristly pig
The pomegranates break with the heavy rain
The taro leaves swell with early autumn
He takes his food out to the fields, rests under the mulberries
Or comes back to the grass beside his house
The place where he lives is called Fools' Valley
Who cares whether well so named?
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