Poems praising the motherland (1): Standing under a tall stone tablet in the morning.
Calm pines and cypresses have a strong personality.
I, an unknown poet.
Write this group of poems against the breeze.
This is a group of affectionate poems.
To the martyrs and the bright five-star red flag.
For my country.
Come to the general's grave
Also stood in the battlefield filled with smoke.
I saw this in the loud charge.
The brave soldier fell in the gunfire.
I see bright red blood flowing.
I feel a force rushing inside and outside me.
Sit down, I have tears in my eyes.
Sitting on this slope in the war
Look up at the blue sky
Now my soul is in a cloud.
Hear lasting passion
That is a rich and profound song.
Raise in the wind, a song
This opened my complex.
I often go there for a walk at this time.
Look at the pine and cypress standing solemnly.
Red soil and green plants are growing.
Similarly, it also grows the truest memory.
In that inspiring song
My dream is still galloping on the battlefield.
It's hard to forget: "Go ahead for the new China!"
Poems praising the motherland (2): The wind in spring is still a little cold.
But who will miss the season of publicizing life?
From the city to the countryside, every new species and life
Everyone keeps a smile of primitive truth.
I saw some earth-shattering things.
Come out of a crack in the rock.
I saw blood rising in the grass.
On this day, look back.
At this time, I am standing at the peak of history.
Look at the roaring river, the angry nation.
I saw an unyielding soul burning with unyielding flame.
Yes, we never give in to fate.
We came from the dust and walked through the smoke.
History has written us crimson.
Motherland, I woke up from the morning like this.
Not for feelings and tears.
Blew out a cavity of blood
Just protect your dignity with my bleeding heart.
Make your mind and body complete and unified.
Just on a deserted hillside
Write a poem and plant a tree.
At this moment, I hold my head high.
In front of my motherland, I feel
My weakness has become strong.
Me, flowers and any birds.
Can wander in the river of life.
Or die in the forefront of national peril?
Indeed, we have no room for hesitation.
Poems praising the motherland (3): There is no boundary between pure May and warm June.
I picked up a cup of crimson liquid.
Welcome the bright moonlight and the loud sun.
The music played and the celebration songs danced.
There is a hand rising in the undulating echo.
Blue waves rippled in the sky, condensing passion.
My motherland! A cry broke out from the goblet.
At the moment, I don't want to call my motherland "mom"
Because in front of the motherland, I am too small and humble.
I am just an unknown poet, just like a country child.
Often awakened by some tender buds in spring.
They green every growing story in my heart.
So I learned to climb, run, think and mature.
I learned to pose like a river with tears in my eyes and a smile.
At this time, I walked through the mountains and rivers of the motherland.
At this time, your towering mountains and rushing rivers
Vast fields, boundless grasslands
Motherland, children of my motherland.
At this point, I have touched your strong and resolute bones.
Has quietly entered your life.
Until the depths of your blood
Then I began to think of myself as a seed.
Water, Poetry and Life
Plant on the land of the motherland
So, I use the purest voice.
Announce to the sky at this time
Am I a grass of the motherland, or
At this time, a red sorghum that has matured in autumn.