Poems by celebrities praising the motherland

Dedicated to my dear motherland, your five thousand years are full of countless disputes. Fearless again and again, frustrated again and again, outlined the unchanging spirit of China. We have lived in your mind for five thousand years, so there is a Chinese soul in your bones that will remain unchanged for five thousand years. Your territory is vast and full of vitality, like a rooster crowing at dawn. Leap again and again, gallop again and again, and you finally stand as an oriental giant. We have grown up on your shoulders for 5,000 years, and therefore, 5,000 years of constant "diligence" is engraved in our temperament. Five thousand years later, you are still young, and five thousand years later, you are still enthusiastic. We have followed your footsteps for five thousand years, so we have witnessed your vicissitudes for five thousand years. You were once frustrated, but the world was shaken by the roar of the nation in 1949; A spring thunder of 1978 opened the door to the world. "Motherland, my dear motherland" Author: Shu Ting I am an old waterwheel worn by your river, spinning tired songs for hundreds of years, I am a miner's lamp with black 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 ancient lotus under the snow, I am your tearful smile nest, I am the newly painted white starting line, and the crimson morning light blooms-the motherland, I am one billionth of you and the sum of your 9.6 million square meters. I've had enough of scarred * * *, thoughtful and excited. Then I will get your wealth, your glory and your freedom from my flesh and blood-motherland, my dear motherland, Ai Qing, I love this land. If I were a bird, I would also sing with a hoarse throat: this land hit by storms is forever surging with our rivers of grief and indignation, blowing endlessly. Why do I often cry? Because I love this land deeply ... SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS