Return to Shaoshan I regret the passing, the dying, of the vague dream: my native orchards thirty-two years ago. Yet red banners roused the serfs, who seized three-pronged lances when the warlords raised whips in their black hands. We were brave and sacrifice was easy and we asked the sun, the moon, to alter the sky. Now I see a thousand waves of beans and rice and am happy. In the evening haze heroes are coming home. June 25, 1959
Mao Tse-tung (1893 - 1976)
Source: The Poems of Mao Tse-tung, Harper & Row
Contributed by: Zaady