200-word poetry recitation

Motherland, my dear motherland, Shu Ting, I am your worn-out old waterwheel by the river, spinning tired songs for hundreds of years, I am a miner's lamp on your forehead, and I am the withered ear of rice that you grope for in the tunnel of history; Is it the roadbed that has been in disrepair for a long time, or the barge on the muddy beach that pulls the rope deeply into your shoulder-the motherland! I am poor, I am sad, I am the painful hope of your ancestors, the flower that has not landed for thousands of years-the motherland, I am your brand-new ideal, I just broke free from the spider web of myth, I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow, I am your tearful smile nest, I am the newly painted white starting line, and the crimson dawn is spreading-the motherland, I am one billionth of you and the sum of your 9.6 million square meters. Nurture the lost me, the considerate me and the boiling me with the scarred * * *, and then get your richness, your glory and your freedom from my flesh and blood-the motherland, my dear motherland.