I love this land, Ai Qing.
If I were a bird,
I should also sing with a hoarse throat:
This land hit by the storm,
This river of sadness and anger will surge forever,
This endless wind,
And the gentle dawn from the forest ...
-Then I died.
Even feathers rot in the ground.
Why do I often cry?
Because I love this land deeply. ...
Mother author: Shu Ting
Your pale fingertips touch my temple.
I can't help acting like a child.
Hold on to your skirt
Ah, mom.
In order to keep your fading figure
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke.
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf.
Afraid that cleaning will make it
Lose your unique warmth
Ah, mom.
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid the memory will fade, too.
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a Jing Guan, and I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mom.
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even if the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep?
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs.
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Ah, mom.
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not a torrent, not a waterfall.
You can't sing in the shade of flowers and trees. drainage shaft
Qiu Si Yishu Hongye
Beautiful acacia tree
A wisp of maple fragrance
Obsessed with love
? wind
Gently stroke the tip of the hair
It itches my heart.
Kiss autumn lips gently.
This mature sweetness
This is full of mellow fragrance.
Dancing with chrysanthemums
Sprinkle gold all over the floor.
Play with leaves
Play a tree beautifully.
Dusk time
The beauty of the sky
Pull up the light barge everywhere.
who is it?
Pick up the last breath of autumn
In the sigh of the evening breeze
Contributed to a dream