What poem is it to grab a handful of water from the Yellow River?

At the source of the Yellow River, this is where dreams begin. This is where life begins. On the vast Yuan Ye, Ming Che's streams and dark springs shine in the lush grass and meander in one direction. This is the root of water. This is the root of ancestors. On the solemn plateau, countless water systems silently network, converge and overlap, vaguely shaking the original. Rock-breaking life, radical and open mind. The Yellow River is the source of water, the water of sages. Looking at the graceful flowing water flowing eastward without hesitation, I suddenly felt a tragic feeling. Creek, do you see the barrels or stranded ships arranged downstream? Did you hear the groan of the land's thirst, or did you hear the affectionate call of the pastoral? I know you are eager to save death, to prosper and to embrace the sunshine of life. I used to suck my mother's original milk repeatedly with a handful of water from the source of the Yellow River. The coolness and sweetness that penetrated the intestines and lungs awakened my dusty nerves and made me feel the joy of rebirth. I tried to sprinkle a handful of water into the sky, and the water droplets were inlaid into stars all over the sky. Don't! That's obviously your loving eyes staring at me. Yak bones lying on the grassland are altars placed for you on the plateau. What should I take to commemorate you? With tears, I am afraid of suffering you, and with blood, I am afraid of polluting you. I will shed my meditation, worship you and pay tribute to you with my pious poems. I stood at the source of the Yellow River and looked at the sea. I am lying in the middle, I am the rushing Yellow River.