| 英譯： |
In Sichuan Province it is rich in palms,
Most of them stand very tall in the farms.
If the bark with fibres are over-peeled.
Many as they are, they will be killed.
Vainly they have leaves cloudy and dense,
And even in the winter are green fans,
But when the axes and choppers come down,
Ere the big catkin willows they should be gone.
In these hard times them the military needs,
And everything the officials leech.
The Sichuan people, I feel pity for you,
Where is the property that is your due?
You are only like the withered palm,
I sigh that you always come to harm.
The dead had past away as a gone fact,
The quick, however, how to himself protect?
I see the chirping siskins peck the trees,
And like the fleabans the fibres fly and flee.
I care for your haggard constitution,
Among weeds you are lost in devastation.
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