Always think of yourself as a pearl,

There is always the pain of being buried.

Think of yourself as dirt,

Let the crowd trample you into a path.

This is the masterpiece of the famous poet Lu Li in the previous life, "Soil", although it is a small poem, the length is short, but it is rich in content, meaningful, full of philosophical speculation and enlightenment of life.

Wang Qiushi wrote this little poem with a brush, and handed it to Jia Lao, who was standing aside.

Jia Lao looked incredulous, and said in surprise:

"How is it so fast?"

As he spoke, he took the poem, his eyes swept away, and he suddenly felt suspicious.

"Huh!"

The surprise in his tone was very obvious, and the expression on his face was much more exciting, and he subconsciously glanced at Wang Qiushi, and Jia Lao frowned again and began to look at it a second time.

This time, he read it word by word, and his mouth read it silently:

Always think of yourself as a pearl,

There is always the pain of being buried.

Think of yourself as dirt,

Let the crowd trample you into a path.

Good poetry!

Jia Lao's first reaction.

It can't be plagiarism, right?

Jia Lao's second reaction.

Then he began to recall in his mind, for a long time, but he never found the same or even similar verses.

Jia Shuai on the side had already joined in the fun, and when he saw Jia Lao's demeanor, he was naturally surprised, he curiously poked his eyes out of the paper to look at it, but after reciting it silently, his mouth opened into an O-shape, and his eyes became extremely frightened!

Looking at Wang Qiushi's gaze, it was like seeing a great god.

This is normal.

After all, really good poetry, no matter who you are, can feel wonderful when you read it for the first time!

After reading it once, Jia Shuai didn't seem to believe it, and looked again, and read it silently in his mouth, and finally made sure that the black and white words were not hallucinations, so he stopped moving, but the shock in his eyes still did not fade.

Wang Qiushi smiled apologetically at him, it is estimated that this kid is guessing in his heart that he is pretending to be a pig and eating a tiger!

Of course, it's not only Jia Shuai who thinks like this, but also Jia Lao.

After recalling for a long time and finding no similar works, Jia Lao could finally confirm that the short poem in his hand was indeed from the hands of this ordinary middle-aged man in front of him who looked to be in his early thirties, dressed simply, and had a calm face.

Or rather, young people.

In Jia Lao's eyes, people under the age of forty are all young people.

His eyes were a little strange, Jia Lao put down the poem in his hand and said wistfully:

"Good poetry! Sure enough, a new generation is better than the old, and there are talents from all generations!"

After speaking, he returned the blank paper to Wang Qiushi, and shook his head with shame.

Let's go.

Although Jia Lao's voice was not loud with emotion, the poets around him had already finished writing poems, waiting for evaluation, and naturally they all heard and saw it, and their eyes when they looked at Wang Qiushi suddenly changed, and they all were:

Who is this kid?

What did this kid write, which could make Jia Lao feel so emotional?

It's just that no one knows Wang Qiushi, and it's rude to come up and ask directly, and the people around him can only put their questions in their stomachs again.

At this time, only Jia Shuai carefully poked Wang Qiushi, and still said with a shocked face:

"Mr. Wang, is this poem really written by you?"

Wang Qiushi snorted and said modestly:

"It's just a blind writing, a blind cat meets a dead mouse......"

The admiration in Jia Shuai's eyes deepened!

Sure enough, it's a master!

So modest!

Twenty minutes were fast in time, and everyone's poems were taken away and concentrated on the podium.

The male host began to read one by one:

"Soil", poet Zhou Ping

When spring crept in

Clay has the most beautiful dreams

Greenery, shrubs, flowers

A dream with the aroma of fruity sake

The dream of the golden grain

It heard it in its dreams

Children's mowing sickles

and the sound of windmills and water mills turning

It heard it in its dreams

Gurgling water

The cow whined low

The song of the cuckoo urging the plough

In warm ponds

A love song with a white goose paddling an orange oar"

……

I have to say that the male host's skills are profound, high-spirited, or frustrated, and he reads the soul of every poem.

All the poets listened quietly, which was an indispensable part of the competition.

Every time the male host finishes reading a poem, he will forward the poem to the judges on the stage, and the judges will give a score after looking at it.

Time passed quickly in the sound of poetry, and in the whole process, there were also several particularly wonderful poems, which won everyone's applause, which made the poets who wrote poems in the audience excited.

Soon, several old people on the stage finished commenting on another song, and the male host picked up another piece of paper and began to read.

It's just that this time, after glancing at it, the male host was obviously stunned for a moment, and then began to read:

Always think of yourself as a pearl,

There is always the pain of being buried.

Think of yourself as dirt,

Let the crowd trample you into a path.

It is "Soil" written by Wang Qiushi

Although the male host deliberately slowed down the speed of speech, this little poem is only four sentences, which is too short.

After reading it on stage, everyone in the audience was still savoring, and they didn't hear the sound for a long time, so they woke up suddenly:

Read it all!

What a short poem!

Not to mention the crowd in the audience, even the old people on the stage did not react, and the president of the Modern Poetry Association, Gao Feng, reacted the fastest, and immediately signaled:

"Read it again!"

All right!

The male host read it slowly again.

This time, everyone began to savor it, and after a while, they began to whisper, most of them in amazement.

The white paper was passed to the four old poets sitting in the middle, and one of them read it once, and then passed it to Gao Feng next to him, and Gao Feng also read it quite carefully, and then sighed:

"Good poetry! This level of small poetry is only rare in ten years!"

As he spoke, he looked at the signature on the paper and wondered:

"Wang Qiushi, is this the pen name of any poet?"

When these words came out, the audience was surprised again, and it is estimated that everyone did not expect that the author of this poem was unknown to anyone.

During the whole process, only Jia Lao kept smiling, as if he had expected it.

"Nine points!"

Qian Lao, who had been savoring it, suddenly spoke.

"Nine points!"

"Nine points!"

"Nine points!"

The other three old men also spoke.

Jia Lao and Gao Feng were left without scoring, everyone's eyes were focused on the two of them, and seeing Jia Lao's mysterious smile, President Gao Feng couldn't help but ask:

"Old Jia, how many points are you going to score? It won't be a perfect score, right?"

Jia Lao smiled and said:

"Xiao Gao still understands my mind, I play ten!"

As soon as these words came out, there was another uproar in the audience, after all, this is the first perfect score in the poetry competition!

As everyone knows, this means that the poem has been affirmed to be of the highest quality.

Hearing that Jia Lao scored a full score, Gao Feng simply said:

"Then I'm going to play very well!"

Saying that, Gao Feng said with a puzzled face:

"But who is this Wang Qiushi? I haven't heard of it at all, is it a newly debuted poet?"

Jia Lao smiled and didn't talk.

After all the poems were judged, the second round began.