Disappeared

The night engulfed the sky, the dust mustard wrapped himself in a homemade straw cloak, stepped on the squeaky old leather boots and continued to move forward.

He stationed wherever he went. The lines on his body were all collected and made by him. The tin cans buttoned on his messy hair may be his most useful treasure. He would use the glasses made of magnifying glasses on them and gather light to make fire in the scorching sun. This kind of life of eating and sleeping on the street taught him a lot of skills, without People know where he comes from and where he is going. He is more like crawling out of the garbage heap by himself. I don't know what he insists on, for the little faith in his heart? Who would care about such a small flame?

No matter how others judge him, he firmly believes that he is an immortal ember. He will turn into a blazing fire with his own strength, and one day he will open the door called beauty.

PS: The writing style is not very good. Maybe this is what I want to express. Drawing yourself is how to be happy and how to please yourself. I hope we all have to believe in our own strength and open the door to our hearts by ourselves!)

Translate the above into English. Fluent and fluent is required.