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?!