Rewrite the proud fisherman Qiu Si into prose

Autumn has arrived, and the scenery under the border jam is very strange. Because the weather was too cold, the geese flying to Hengyang did not want to stay, and continued to fly south. Suddenly, horns sounded around, and the wind of A?vagho?a roared, one by one, mixed together. Sunset hung on the horizon, with thick twilight and smoke. This isolated city, located among the mountains, closed its gates early.

In the evening, the soldiers drank wine together to dispel the chill. When I raise my glass, I can't help thinking of my hometown thousands of miles away. However, the invading enemy soldiers have not retreated now, and they have not carved stones on Yanran Mountain. How can we consider returning? I can only drown my sorrows in wine.

The night is getting deeper and colder, and the thick frost is all over the earth. The sound of Qiang flute came from outside the account, which was deep and intense. Lying in the cold bed, the general tossed and turned, making it difficult to sleep. Now my hair is gray, and the soldiers are secretly homesick and crying. Oh, when will the Tatar army be conquered and returned? !