I love this land.

I love this land, Ai Qing. If I were a bird, I would also sing with a hoarse throat: this land hit by the storm, this river of sadness and indignation that will surge on us forever, this restless wind, and the incomparable gentle dawn from the forest ...-Later I died, and even my feathers rotted in the ground. Why do I often cry? Because I love this land deeply ...-written in 1938 1 1 7. If/I were a bird, I should also/sing with a hoarse throat: this land was hit by a storm/,and this river is always surging/our sorrow/,which is endless. Why/my eyes/often contain tears? Because I/deeply love this land …