A poem describing the boredom of trivial matters in life ...

The children in Nancun bully me. I can stand being a thief. I openly carried Mao into the bamboo forest, and my lips were so dry that I couldn't breathe. When I came back, I sighed on crutches. The wind in Russia sets the color of clouds and ink, and the desert becomes dark in autumn. This cloth has been as cold as iron for many years, and Joule has been lying down and cracking. There is no dry place in the bedside table, and the feet are numb with rain. How can you get wet all night since you are in a mess and don't get enough sleep! Du Fu's Autumn Wind Breaking the Cottage is for reference only.