I was going to post this because I was going to go home for vacation. But it is not to be. Sigh.
Coming Home by He Zhizhang
I left home young and not till old do I come back,
My accent is unchanged, my hair no longer black.
The children don’t know me, whom I meet on the way,
“Where do you come from, reverend sir?” they smile and say.
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Oh i really love your poem about going home again, i hope you get to make the trip soon.