I often sigh over my long white hair.
My woman shares my sorrow.
She patches up winter clothes under the lamp
while our little daughter is playing in bed.
All our screens and mosquito nets are old and faded,
autumn feels cold on our mats and pillows.
But her poverty could be worse.
At least she didn’t marry Qianlou!
(Bai JuYi)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Hair Poems, Autumn Poems, Daughters Poems, Poverty PoemsBased on Keywords: mats, mosquito