Moon, after a long night, your song of longing always sings to the sun; Living in the distance, cicada, you sing sad songs to all the trees this summer and this summer; Floating on the water, on the ebb and flow of the tide, on the waves, flying seagulls, you dedicated your lonely song to this vast and boundless sea ... My song is destined to be sung to my mother, the Yellow River. I remember that I once dedicated 999 roses to you, the Yellow River. I once wrote 999 poems for you, Yellow River. I once gave you 999 carols, Yellow River. Because your blood is flowing in my body, and your nation with black eyes, black hair and yellow skin-the Yellow River. ...
The Yellow River, mother's river ... You come from ancient chaos, you come from the ups and downs of history, you come from the winding journey and boat songs of my ancestors ... Year after year, month after month, day after day, you consistently flow the desolation and simplicity of my plateau milk yellow ... The Yellow River in my memory, you are my grandmother. Smoking a pipe, smelling bitter absinthe, lit one by one ... You are the legend that your father was drunk and slept in the Yellow River when he was drunk, and you are the ancient love story that your mother helped her father stagger home ... What a miserable river you are in the Yellow River. ...
Yellow River, mother's river ... Although your milk is turbid, in my heart, it is better than thousands of clear waves ... Although your milk is bitter, in my heart, it has been quenching my anxiety and nourishing my long-lasting thoughts ... Yellow River, mother river, whether I am at the end of the world or at the ends of the earth, whether I am at. That's what I called you ... Yellow River, you raised your children with broad feelings and delicate emotions, and raised a nation that lasted for 5,000 years ... It's hard to imagine how beautiful Zou would be when the first sheepskin raft was launched. Ancestors must have hesitated in your whirlpool, and your children must have swayed in your boat songs ... Dayu did not go home after three times of water control. The posture of anti-Japanese soldiers crossing the Yellow River to drink horses is still so cordial, the blood and flags of Taihang Mountain are still so red, and the bonfire of revenge in Luliang Mountain is still burning in my mind ... Yellow River, you are a river that dares to fight against fate. ...
The Yellow River, mother's river ... I know that Li Bai, a poet with hundreds of poems about fighting wine, once lit the annual cup, danced in the breeze and sang about you passionately. How the water of the Yellow River moved out of heaven and entered the ocean, never to return ... This is your spirit, your style and your feelings. Without you, how can there be the roaring momentum of Li Bai? You used to be like a reckless person, thinking that every plain would spread far away and every canyon could lead to the sea. Great Yellow River, you also lost your way. How did you stay in the land of Ma Pingchuan to pour out your melancholy? How do you cry for the distant ocean? You corrected your course in time, leaving so much for us and your descendants. Today, you finally go to the ocean, connecting distant places and the world ... The Yellow River, you are a river carrying children's future hopes. ...