I first met poetry in the school library. Among the colorful books, I was attracted by her elegant cover at first sight. I picked her up carefully: the silver-red cover, such as Xia Ying's veils in A Dream of Red Mansions, was painted with two magnolia flowers, and the word "The Book of Songs" caught my eye, so I had an indissoluble bond with poetry.
At first, I read a poem only because of its beautiful rhetoric and ethereal artistic conception, such as the poem "The sword is gray and the white dew is frost". I have never had any knowledge, only that it is beautifully written and I don't understand its true meaning. There are many jokes about this. Once in a composition class, I wrote about a peasant woman who pretended to be clever and quoted a poem from Shuo Ren: "Soft hands, stiff skin, falling collar, teeth like rhinoceros, head like eyebrows." I thought I would be praised by the teacher, so I waited in my seat with great joy. As a result, the teacher asked me to go to the podium with a gloomy face. I'm confused. The teacher pointed to the poem I quoted and asked, "Do you know what this sentence means?" I shook my head: "I don't know, I just thought it looked good, so I used it." The teacher couldn't help laughing and explained the meaning of this poem to me. I blushed when I heard this, but the teacher took out a book of poems from the drawer and said to me, "It's good that you like reading poems, but you can't superficial. Why don't you take a look at this first? There are notes in it. " I thanked the teacher with surprise, picked up the book and left happily.
After getting the guidance of the teacher, I became more obsessed with poetry. After reading deeply, I realized that the historical and cultural details contained in poetry made me want to stop. On the way to school, looking at the neat buildings in Tian She, I will read "There are more than ten acres of square houses and eight or nine huts. After Yin, before Luotang. " ; In spring, my uncle raised new silkworm eggs, and I also recited a poem casually, "In March, silkworms give birth to spring, and spring mulberry is full of green." Daughter picks spring mulberry, and the song blows like a spring song. "Even when I go home to the fence, I will sigh," Busy things scatter fragrant dust, flowing water is dust-free and vegetation is spring. Mother often laughs and says, "What a poet! "
I have been studying poetry for many years, and now my favorite thing is to move a bamboo chair in the night when there are few stars in the moon and chew those poems with more beautiful words in the evening breeze. The clear childlike voice seems to have turned into ink, written on the edge of the moon and floated to the distance in the dream.
There are poems in the distance, and I want to believe them.