| 英譯： |
Since the rebellion of the Tianbao period ,
In wormwoods and pigweeds the farms are buried .
There were a hundred families in our town ,
East or west they've fled ere they could settle down . There is no news from those who are alive ,
And dust and mud are those who lost their life .
From the rout of Ye City I come back
To find in my birth place the dear old track .
The empty lanes meet my eyes all the way ,
The sun seems to be haggard , the air dreary .
Me the foxes and racoon-dogs do defy ,
With their hair standing up , and furiously cry .
What are there in my neighbour's houses all round ?
Only one or two widows can be found .
Clinging to their old perch , the tired birds fly ,
Shall I leave my poor nest and further ply ?
In spring I shoulder a hoe to farm alone ,
And water vegetable plots in gloom .
But the official knows I'm back $(a farmer)$ ,
He calls me to be trained as a drummer !
To serve within the County , $(it's all very well ,)$
Yet at home I've no one to bid farewell .
All by myself , to a near camp I make way ,
I would be the more at sea if far away .
Near or far , it makes no difference to me ,
While all's gone in town , but a blank to see .
I'm torn with grief , my mother died of disease
Five years ago , the gutter was her release .
How worthless I was born and live above ground ,
My mother and I suffer without bound !
A homeless man to part with his birth place ,
What a shame , being one of the human race !
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