| 英譯： |
Howling madly
a big September storm
took off three layers
of our thatched roof
spreading them on the river
and all along the banks
even high up and hanging
among the branches of the trees
along the ground as well
in all the pools and hollows
and then the boys from South Village
taking advantage of my weak old age
helped themselves to thatch
right in front of me
carrying off armfuls
into the bamboo grove
ignoring my shouts
until my voice was hoarse...
I trudge back home, sighing
leaning on my stick
the wind dies down
the clouds are still quite black
they seem to reinforce
the long autumn night
my threadbare quilt
is cold as iron now
my little son sleeping restlessly
has kicked it full of holes
right above my bed
the roof is leaking, there's no dry spot
disrupted sleep again, it's been this way
ever since the Rebellion
huddled up, trying to get through
this cold, soaked night
I dream of a great big house
with maybe a million rooms
shelter for all poor scholars
to make them smile
even in huge rainstorms
unshakable mountain of a house
if such a house sprang up
right before my eyes
my hut could smash and I could freeze to death－
I'd still die happy.
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