The Vanished Village

That land is where my ancestors lived for generations. It is my roots, the road I came from, and the eternal home of my soul. That little village is where I was born and grew up. It is my hometown, where my loved ones and ancestors lie buried. There lie all the memories of my childhood, every little moment of my growing up. Once, crops covered the land. Now, the hillsides lie barren, and not a trace of crops remains. Every field has fallen into ruin, overgrown with weeds. The sight of our forebears laboring there has become history, leaving behind endless wistful thoughts and sighs of sorrow! As I grew up, many people passed away. In the depths of my memory, their faces and voices still linger, growing ever more indistinct. In my heart, they were all family. The world changes, and the years turn, but the outline of the mountains around the village remains unchanged through the ages. They are my eternal spiritual support. But people, in the end, grow old, and in the end, they pass away. Those trees withered, were cut down, and disappeared. The village is still there, but many people and things remain only in memory. As society develops, perhaps a few generations from now, the village will eventually fall into ruin, become deserted, and be forgotten. With these words, I remember and pay tribute to my departed loved ones, and to that rich, fertile land.