To be an orphan, To be fated to be an orphan, How bitter is this lot! When my father and mother were alive I used to ride in a carriage With four fine horses. But when they both died, My brother and sister-in-law Sent me out to be a merchant. In the south I travelled to the "Nine Rivers" And in the east as far as Ch'i and Lu. At the end of the year when I came home I dared not tell them what I had suffered -- Of the lice and vermin in my head, Of the dust in my face and eyes. My brother told me to get ready the dinner, My sister-in-law told me to see after the horses. I was always going up into the hall And running down again to the parlour. My tears fell like rain. In the morning they sent me to draw water, I didn't get back till night-fall. My hands were all sore And I had no shoes. I walked the cold earth Treading on thorns and brambles. As I stopped to pull out the thorns, How bitter my heart was! My tears fell and fell And I went on sobbing and sobbing. In winter I have no great-coat; Nor in summer, thin clothes. It is no pleasure to be alive. I had rather quickly leave the earth And go beneath the Yellow Springs. The April winds blow And the grass is growing green. In the third month -- silkworms and mulberries, In the sixth month -- the melon-harvest. I went out with the melon-cart And just as I was coming home The melon-cart turned over. The people who came to help me were few, But the people who ate the melons were many, All they left me was the stalks -- To take home as fast as I could. My brother and sister-in-law were harsh, They asked me all sorts of awful questions. Why does everyone in the village hate me? I want to write a letter and send it To my mother and father under the earth, And tell them I can't go on any longer Living with my brother and sister-in-law. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MORNING HYMN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A DREAM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MAUDLIN'S SONG: 1, FR. MIDSUMMER EVE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE FOREST RANGERS by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. THE GLORY OF THE GAME by WILLIAM HAMILTON CLINE POEM-SKETCH IN 3 PARTS: THE COMING OF THE GREAT BIRD by HILDA CONKLING |