Eastward, the road to home is far and away,
Sleeves soaked in tears that continue to run;
Crossing paths on horses, pen and paper scarce,
I entrust you to bring back messages of my safety.

Your son is determined to leave our hometown,
If fame is not achieved, I swear not to return,
Why do one’s bones need to be buried in one’s native place?
For in life, there are no mountains that aren’t green.

When we fought for the country,
Did we fear losing our heads?
Today, our land under the Heaven is red,
But who can protect our motherland?

Mission unfinished,
Bodies fatigued and maned of gray;
You and I, our generation,
Shall we bear to see our aspirations
Blown away and cast off to sea?

── from Mao Zedong Shiciji
(Collection of Poetry and Verses by Mao Zedong)