Editor's Note: The poet is full of affection, and through expressing his feelings, he remembers the revolutionary heroes and eulogizes the old revolutionary areas, which is sincere and infectious. The language is simple, the picture is clear, and there is a sense of history and vicissitudes.
Along the winding mud-flow ancient road of the green vine
In October, purple chrysanthemums shake the autumn plain.
The cuckoo's cry calls me.
Walk into Dabie Mountain
Walk into a historical picture.
The rotating pupil passes through like the wind.
Fog that has lingered in the mountains and deep streams for thousands of years.
History, convex-concave contour
Under the yellow gloomy sky
The dark back was bitten by the sun with tears.
There are countless records of suffering.
How many tears are bitter and how much sweat is hard.
It's getting harder and harder to feed the poor ridge.
And you, still prostrate in silence.
Too long language
The mountain wind breaks your burning heart like a red maple.
Moss eats away at your tired nerves like Gu Teng.
For thousands of years, the heart has not been chaotic and has not moved for thousands of years.
There are waves in the valley, ringing from the distant ancient century.
The bronze horn splashed from the lotus.
Blow up one sleeping mountain after another.
Blow a country with a bronze horn
Cast a bright flag, cast
The belief that hammers and sickles are intertwined
The one who cut off his tongue shouted with his eyes.
Those who blow up their legs crawl on their arms.
This face is weather-beaten.
The old mother who carved countless walnut wrinkles.
Let the dawn light pass through this remote village as soon as possible.
Sent away several sons, sent away the bodies of several sons.
Are embedded in * * * and the history of the country that is difficult to open the door.
She smiled and quietly rolled up her bedclothes.
Get into the bullet and use her last heat.
Warm the heroic descendants who grew up in this land.
So there are doves who incite the wind of peace.
Once, the road to fall off the cliff was here.
Standing tall, a monument of lofty character.
You, the Dragon of the East, raise your head.
Ah, Dabie Mountain! Majestic historical old man
The foothole of a thousand-year-old strong man vibrates in your silence.
Have you finally woken up? Turbulent years
Over the mountains, on the echo wall of history
It embodies the untitled song-You.
Skinny bones have become stronger.
Yellow skin color is green.
Your bumpy memory
It has been ironed out by the golden wind in October.
Your fat red sorghum and popcorn
Sincerely lift a crowd as tough as an oriental statue.
Every heavy inscription on your bare rock
Not only is it engraved with the tragic past of the yellow race
Still stained with the purple dawn of the ancient East.
The long-standing yearning of the Chinese nation is like a seed.
In the pulse deep in your chest
Germinate quietly and grow sturdily.