Author: Ai Qing
If I were a bird,
I should also/sing with a hoarse throat:
This storm/this land,
This is always surging/our sadness/river,
This constant/blowing/annoying/wind,
And the/very gentle/dawn from the forest. ...
-Then/I died,
Even the feathers have rotted underground.
Why/my eyes/often contain tears?
Because/I love this land deeply. ...
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