A long and good poem

Shu Ting's "Motherland, My Dear Motherland" I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river. I have been spinning tired songs for hundreds of years. I am a miner's lamp on your forehead. You grope in the tunnel of history. I am a withered ear of rice; Is it the dilapidated roadbed 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 snow-covered ancient lotus, I am your tearful smile nest, I am the newly painted white starting line, and the crimson dawn is spreading-the motherland, I am your billion, the sum of your 9.6 million square meters, and you.