August autumn high wind howls, Roll my house, triple thatch. Maofei crosses the river and sojiang suburb, The tall one hangs on the top of the forest, The lower one drifts and sinks into the pond and depression. Nancun group children bully me, old and weak, Can't bear to face a thief. Openly embrace the grass into the bamboo, Dry lips and mouth, unable to breathe, Come back and lean on your stick to sigh. The wind in the vast expanse of water settles the clouds, and the ink color, Autumn is indifferent to darkness. The quilt has been cold like iron for many years, Jiao'er hates lying and stepping inside. There is no dry place in the bedside room, The rain has not stopped. Self menstruation, confusion and less sleep, Why is it so wet at night! There are thousands of buildings in ande Guangsha, All the poor people in the world are happy! The wind and rain do not move, and peace is like a mountain. Whir! When do you suddenly see this house, My house is broken alone, and it's enough to die in the cold!