Wind blew off my thatched roof by Tom Sharp

Strong winds stole the roof of my hut, flinging layers of thatch across the pond, into the trees, and on the ground. I swung my stick and shouted but I only grew tired and chapped. Children taunted me because I’m old and because I couldn’t catch this thief. My bed got wet and my blanket froze and when I turned, the fabric broke. Like others, the war left me nothing but dreams, dreaming that we’d all be warm and fed. Did I have a warm hut with a thatched roof, or was I covered only in cold and cruelty?

茅屋为秋风所破歌 by 杜甫 (Du Fu)

八月秋高风怒号，卷我屋上三重茅。茅飞度江洒江郊，高者挂罥长林梢，下者飘转沉塘坳。南村群童欺我老无力，忍能对面为盗贼。公然抱茅入竹去，唇焦口燥呼不得，归来倚杖自叹息。俄顷风定云墨色，秋天漠漠向昏黑。布衾多年冷似铁，骄儿恶卧踏里裂。床床屋漏无干处，雨脚如麻未断绝。自经丧乱少睡眠，长夜沾湿何由彻。安得广厦千万间，大庇天下寒士俱欢颜，风雨不动安如山。呜呼！何时眼前突兀见此屋，吾庐独破受冻死亦足！