New Poetry/Sun Dajun
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The milk sucked by the wheat ear turns from green to yellow,
Busy farming has changed from busy people to busy machines.
There are only a few harvesters,
People are waiting for it to pass from one house to another,
I slept in the bed, listening to the sound of the machine.
This is a symphony created by nature today.
My field has been transferred to someone else,
I no longer worry about my own wheat harvest.
I always accept the dust of wheat during the busy farming season.
I won't complain that the air is no longer fresh,
My clothes are worn out,
It was covered with sweat and old oil.
If you don't wash it, it will be as dirty as a farmer.
As soon as I fell in love with my hometown,
I appreciate it turning into a poem.
This land keeps recording my growth,
It knows what my people really look like.
I used to hate being dirty when I was doing farm work.
I'm not satisfied with people's rusticity,
Not dirty, very smooth,
Without soil, how much force will it take.