I Love This Land
Ai Qing

If I were a bird,
I would sing with my hoarse voice
Of this land buffeted by storms,
Of this river turbulent with our grief,
Of these angry winds ceaselessly blowing,
And of the dawn, infinitely gentle over the woods…
--Then I would die
And even my feather would rot in the soil.

Why are my eyes always brimming with tears?
Because I love this land so deeply….