1, a poem praising the great motherland.
In the morning, standing under the high stone tablet, the calm pine and cypress have a strong character. I, an unknown poet, wrote this group of poems against the breeze, which is a group of affectionate poems, addressed to the martyrs, to the bright five-star red flag and to my motherland. When I came to the general's grave, I stood on the battlefield filled with smoke. I saw the brave soldiers fall in the rumble of the charge. I see bright red blood flowing. I feel a kind of power rushing inside and outside my body. I sat down with tears in my eyes
Sitting on this slope in the war, looking up at the blue sky, the soul is in a cloud and hearing an enduring passion, which is a vigorous and profound song. Raise in the wind, a song, thus opened my complex, I often walk here, watching pine and cypress stand upright, red soil, growing green plants, but also growing the most real Myanmar. In that inspiring song, my dream is still galloping on the battlefield, which is unforgettable: "Go ahead for the new China!"
2. Poetry praising the great motherland.
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 keeps an original true smile. I saw some earth-shattering things emerge from the cracks in the rocks, and I saw blood rising in the grass. Today, looking back, I stand at the peak of history and see roaring rivers and angry nations. 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 into the blood book. Motherland, I woke up in the morning like this, not for the sake of emotion and a drop of tears or a cavity of blood, but to protect your dignity with my bleeding heart and make your soul and body complete and unified.
Just to write a poem and plant a tree on a barren hillside. At this moment, I hold my head high. In front of my motherland, I feel my weakness has become strong. I, Hua and any bird can linger in the long river of life, or die at the forefront of national peril. Indeed, we have no room for hesitation.
3. Poetry praising the great motherland.
There is no boundary between pure May and warm June. I picked up a cup of deep red liquid to meet the bright moonlight and the noisy sun. The music started, the celebration songs danced, and a hand was raised in the ups and downs of the echo. Blue waves rippling in the sky, condensing passion, my motherland! A cry broke out from the goblet. At this 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 child in the country, who is often awakened by some buds in spring. They green every growing story in my heart, so I learned to crawl, to run, to think, to mature, and to walk with tears and laughter like a river.
So, I walked through the mountains and rivers of the motherland, your towering mountains, rushing rivers, vast fields, boundless grasslands, the motherland, my children in this country. I touched your strong and resolute bones and have quietly entered your life until the depths of your blood.
Then, I began to regard myself as a seed, planting it on the land of my motherland with water, poetry and life. Then, I declare to the boundless sky with the purest voice that I am a grass of the motherland or a red sorghum that has matured in autumn.