Poem reading draft of "Ode to Chinese Classics, Be a Noble Teenager" (3-5 minutes)

The days and nights that roared away in my eyes, the green grass that surged in my chest, the tears and expressions in the golden robes of Neijing, all flowed, my youth time was endless, and my blood was breathing. When I hold a copper pot, it warms a river of tears. Who is your drunken boat to suppress my pounding chest? I expect the Yellow River of Beidou to be full of thunder, and a thousand diaries will be taken away by you, which is a Qian Fan. Qian Fan's back, your back is the roar of a comeback. When I lead a cow and a sheep to disappear at your noisy dusk entrance, when I drag my children to help the elderly and roam on your road, when the brazier above me worships your deep source, the Yellow River. I long for a good harvest after the storm. I have black hair and white hair, thousands of feet. I am flying thousands of feet along the Yellow River, my Tiema Glacier is dreaming, and my canoe is crossing the Chung Shan Man. My Yellow River can't take my photo away from my face. My Yellow River can't take away my songs and my feelings. The rising sea can't drown the sunset in my heart. The world of mortals in my eyes cannot be buried in the declining river. My river that doesn't hit the south wall and doesn't look back, my river that doesn't see coffins and tears, my river that doesn't see the Great Wall and doesn't act as a hero, my river that doesn't see the sea and never dies, my river that blows around, my bustling river, my ups and downs. You can't see the river of fire without leaving a river. When stones turn into foam, when bones turn into waves, when sorghum falls in a pool of blood, when tears turn into an ear of highland barley, when my feet are covered with muddy water, I hold a handful of hardships in my hands. You are the song I want to sing when I am tired. Whip shadow drives a carriage full of flames and tears, and folk songs are full of apricot flowers and wet villages. The north wind stands in the east, west and south of your river. Hebei Yellow River, I am the mountain you grew up watching. Shandandan is a beauty. The mountain made of water and the mountain made of waves ignite your pulse with nine twists and eighteen bends bit by bit. When the sun shines on my head, frost is humming that nursery rhyme. You are my motherland with dreams as my horse.