Author: Du Fu
In August and autumn, the wind roared and rolled up my three hairs.
Hair flew over the river and sprinkled on the periphery of the river. The highest one hangs a long forest tip, and the lower one floats to Shentang 'ao.
The children in Nancun bully me. I am old and weak, and I can stand being a thief across the street.
Holding the hair in the bamboo pole openly, your lips are hot and your mouth is dry! Come back and sigh with a stick.
In an instant, the wind will set the color of the clouds and ink, and the autumn will be bleak and dark.
This cloth has been as cold as iron for many years, and Joule has been lying down and cracking.
There is no dry place in the bedside table, and the feet are numb with rain.
What's the point of getting wet all night?
There are tens of millions of luxury houses in Ande, which greatly protect the poor people in the world from the spring breeze and the wind and rain!
Oh! When I suddenly see this house in front of me, I will freeze to death alone!