Urgently ask for a poem recitation. (After the New Year, the Municipal Audit Bureau will hold a get-together and needs a poem recitation.

audit, My watchful eye

Since that civil service exam

made me a member of the auditing family

Auditing has become my pious watchful eye

Dawn has just revealed her charming cheeks

My roaring hands have already been fixed in a mountain of books

The starlight in the middle of the night has turned the hard work of the day into a heavy night

There is still my persistence in reading at my desk

Three meals a day. The mystery of the test

How many times the cry of my young son lingers in the call of the mobile phone

But I just came back from the audit on the country road

I am burdened with thinking about doubtful accounts and hidden dangers

Please understand my mother, son

Maybe I am not a qualified mother

I can be a qualified auditor

Filter the found violations

Don't let the state property suffer a trace. Another way of compensation

What I will never forget is that my 48-year-old mother died forever in that winter

and I was auditing in a remote town

At the moment when she was seriously ill

I didn't hold my mother's hand that she might survive

My heart will ache every year in Tomb-Sweeping Day after that

If there is a family number in heaven

I will definitely tell my mother <

Every Mother's Day

I will put a bunch of carnations in front of my mother's grave

She will see the healthy blessings I planted in heaven

She will understand her daughter's pious watch over auditing in heaven

I will comb my watch slowly in a quiet office

I often wonder

It turns out that auditing is a sacred and just profession

. Things change without changing

It turns out that faith can be like this

clouds are steaming and clouds are shining

the sun and the moon are shining

It's hard to find red seals, yellow papers and attachments all over the table.

it's hard to find red seals, yellow papers and a table full of attachments. The sin is deep and the salary is thin. A report, a few nights of thinking. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

As before, people are empty and thin, and drooling all over the table. I'm really down and out without a place to do it. Although XXXX is here, my dream is hard to hold. Fall, fall, fall.

superficial scenery,

inner hesitation;

the face is not old,

the heart is vicissitudes;

no achievements,

often depressed;

I feel superior occasionally,

I feel nervous in my bag;

occasionally confused,

being used as a gun;

ask yourself,

better than migrant workers.

It is often:

If you are hungry, you will not get fat;

tea gets cold as soon as people leave.

This is a description of the reporter's ups and downs.

As an auditor, there are many feelings.

There seems to be some shadow, don't you think! ?