The setting sun shines on the market cattle and sheep trail home along the lane.
And a rugged old man in a thatch door leans on a staff and thinks of his son the herdboy.
There are whirring pheasants? full wheat-ears silk-worms asleep pared mulberry-leaves.
Tian fu hoe to hail one another familiarly.
No wonder I long for the simple life and am sighing the old song Oh to go Back Again!.