Prose translation:

One autumn evening, on the desolate ancient road, the west wind was blowing hard and the leaves were flying; On the roadside, on the old tree wrapped with dead vines, birds have returned to their nests and crowed from time to time; Not far away, people are preparing dinner and cooking cigarettes in a sparse bungalow next to a small bridge and flowing water.

At this time, a man was walking slowly on the ancient road alone with a thin horse. At dusk, a crow was on an old tree with dead vines, and returned to its nest at dusk. The flying sand rolled over the town. A figure appeared at the end of the ancient road in the town, leading a hungry and tired thin horse. No, you shouldn't say that. It should be said that the thin horse led him. He was forced by his family to wander outside. His eyes have long lost the light of the past, replaced by confusion and hesitation. The river is sparkling in the sunset, and the cabins of several families are small but particularly warm. Then he thought of that home, that big house; Thought of food, a table of delicious food; I will still think of my mother ... when I think of my mother, his long-lost tears cross my face.

He didn't want to think, and he didn't dare to think.

He was tired and fell on this end of the bridge; He is sleepy. He wants to sleep for a while, just for a while. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, so calm and serene, with a smile on his lips.

The wind blew, took his soul and flew back to the home he dreamed of going back every night. ...