How my roof blew away.

HOW MY ROOF BLEW AWAY
(after Du Fu)

   November, and the winds of autumn shriek
   And roll the thatch, three deep, right off our roof
   Into the river and the paddy field:

   Some catches in high branches of the peach,
   Some plops into a swirling, muddy pool.
   A gang of kids blows in from out of town,

   They know I'm old, and look me in the eye
   And make right off with thatch through thick bamboo.
   I scream at them until I've lost my voice,

   Limp back, lean on a cane, and shake with rage.
   The wind calms down, but all the clouds bleed ink
   No matter where I look! Our threadbare quilt

   Is only cotton, thin as frost, and ripped;
   My children toss at night, stick feet right through.
   The roof is rich with drips; there's no escape--

   And rain pours thickly down, like strings of hemp.
   I hardly sleep these days at best of times,
   And now I'm face to face with dark all night.

   If I could have a mansion, full of rooms,
   The poor could come and shelter from the cold,
   A mansion made of stone that won't blow down,

   If only I could glimpse that great warm house
   Filled like a honeycomb with peace and calm,
   I'd freeze to death right here without complaint.