Love the road to protect the road, classic poems, the cry of the road
I am a road,
A road to due diligence.
In the morning,
I escort the children to school;
At noon,
I go home with the joy of working people;
At night,
People fell asleep in my cradle.
however
Not only did people not repay me,
On the contrary, bite the hand that feeds you,
Polluted my conscientious path:
When children are playing,
Left a stone on me? Scar? ;
After the students finished their snacks,
Add flowers to my clothes with garbage bags? Flowers? ;
When adults take a leisurely walk,
These spittle are enough to make me sick and numb.
Hey,
Dude, why do you want me to be so dirty?
Do you want to walk on my dusty body?
Want to walk on me with a garbage bag on your back?
Or do you want to walk on me with a bad smell?
If you don't want to,
Then please love me and cherish me.
Otherwise,
Only your own health is threatened.
Let's go, human!
A row of stones, standing neatly in a line, stretches for thousands of miles.
Higher than the stone, there are two bright rails.
Below the stone is the calm Shaxi River.
The notes sung by the whistle fell on the stone.
Flowers are blooming on the stone, and many dance steps are spinning.
Walk out of a road, smooth, shiny and rosy.
The signal lamp in the distance stands on the stone, its height
And labor equivalence. I always praise with awe:
How many railway people have been nurtured by the quality of railways and iron?
Shoulders make stones warm. Stand on your shoulders.
Watching the train approach or leave, the cold whistling away.
It has become the wind that blows each other. Railways and things like that.
Gathered on the stone, like clusters of red phosphorus, gently touched.
Can light the flame, I heard the stone talking:
There are always cold hearts that are influenced, and there are always warm people that become the past.
On the edge of town, shoulder stone protection.
Working people change crops one after another, only stones.
Look at the starry sky, the years, and the wild chrysanthemums.
Keep the light, the shoulders and the waters of Qian Shan.
Watch the whistle.
A row of stones, standing neatly in a line, stretches for thousands of miles.
Higher than the stone, there are two bright rails.
Below the stone is the calm Shaxi River.
The notes sung by the whistle fell on the stone.
Flowers are blooming on the stone, and many dance steps are spinning.
Walk out of a road, smooth, shiny and rosy.
The signal lamp in the distance stands on the stone, its height
And labor equivalence. I always praise with awe:
How many railway people have been nurtured by the quality of railways and iron?
Shoulders make stones warm. Stand on your shoulders.
Watching the train approach or leave, the cold whistling away.
It has become the wind that blows each other. Railways and things like that.
Gathered on the stone, like clusters of red phosphorus, gently touched.
Can light the flame, I heard the stone talking:
There are always cold hearts that are influenced, and there are always warm people that become the past.
On the edge of town, shoulder stone protection.
Working people change crops one after another, only stones.
Look at the starry sky, the years, and the wild chrysanthemums.
Keep the light, the shoulders and the waters of Qian Shan.
Watch the whistle.