Du Fu
The high autumn wind howls in August and rolls up the three thatched roofs of my house.
Mao flies across the river and spreads across the outskirts of the river. The taller ones hang on forest branches, while the lower ones drift to the sunken pond. A group of children in Nancun deceived me because I was old and weak.
I was a thief who could not stand it, and they openly carried me into the bamboo.
My lips were burnt and my mouth was dry, and I couldn't breathe. When I returned, I leaned on my stick and sighed.
The wind in Russia makes the clouds dark, and the desert turns dark in autumn.
The quilt has been as cold as iron for many years, and the delicate child is lying on it and is cracked inside.
The leakage at the bedside has nowhere to dry, and the rain has not stopped.
My menstruation is disordered and I have little sleep. How can I get wet all night long?
There are tens of millions of mansions in Ande, which can shelter all the poor people in the world with joy.
It is as peaceful as a mountain, unmoved by wind and rain.
Alas!
Whenever I suddenly see this house in front of me, my house alone will be broken down and frozen to death!