赶场的人们回家了
可是我的诗没有归来
有人曾看见它
带着金色的口弦
在黄昏路口的屋檐下
喝醉了酒
沮丧徘徊
坡上的羊儿进圈了
可是我的诗没有归来
领头羊曾看见它
在太阳沉落的时候
望着流血的山冈
欲哭无泪
独自伤感
四邻的乡亲都安睡了
可是我的诗没有归来
一个人坐在门前等待
这样的夜晚谁能忘怀？！
Folks have all come home from market
But my poem has not come back
It was seen drunk
Pacing heavy-heartedly
With a golden mouth harp in hand
Under eaves of a house
Near a crossroads at dusk
Sheep have come down from the hillside
But my poem has not come back
The lead ram caught sight of it
As the sun edged downward
It was watching the bleeding hills
It was past the point of weeping
Grieving to itself
The neighbors are all asleep
But my poem has not come home
I sit at the gate to watch for it
How could I forget such a night?!