Ask for a middle school text and a middle school text

Is this the one?

Butterfly Forever "Chen Qiyou".

It was raining, the asphalt was cold, and the lights were flashing blue, yellow, and red. In the big pocket of my white trench coat was a letter to my mother in the south.

Who taught us to bring only a small umbrella? She said with a smile as she held up her umbrella and prepared to cross the street to help me deliver the letter. A light raindrop from her umbrella bones splashed on the glass of my glasses.

There was a sharp braking sound. Sakurako's life flew up gently, slowly, and fell on the wet and cold street, like a butterfly at night.

Although it is spring, it seems to be late autumn.

She just crossed the street to help me deliver letters. Such a simple action will teach me to never forget. I slowly opened my eyes and stood blankly under the arcade, with hot tears in my eyes.

All the cars in the world have stopped, and the crowds of people have rushed to the road**. The one lying on the street is mine, the butterfly. At this time, she was five meters away from me, and she was so far away.

Bigger raindrops splashed in my glasses and even in my life.

Why? Just bring an umbrella?

However, I saw Sakurako wearing a white trench coat and holding an umbrella, quietly crossing the street. She's going to send me the letter. It was a letter to my mother in the south, and I stood blankly under the arcade, and I saw the eternal Sakurako walking into the middle of the street and looking back at me.

In fact, the rain was not very heavy, but it was the biggest rain in our lives, and that letter was written like this, did the young Sakurako know?

Mom: I'm planning to marry Sakurako at the beginning of next month.

I was not impressed by this text in junior high school.

You can go to the official website of the Ministry of Education to view the "Notice on Publishing the Electronic Version of the National Curriculum Textbooks for Primary and Secondary Schools". Tachibana suspicion.

There are electronic versions of all the texts from various publishing houses across the country.

The Road Not Selected

There were two paths in the yellow woods, but unfortunately I could not tread them at the same time, and I stood at the intersection for a long time, and I looked at one path until it disappeared into the depths of the jungle.

But I chose another path, and it was barren and lonely, and it seemed more attractive and beautiful;

Although on this trail, there are few travelers' footprints.

The leaves were all over the ground that morning, and neither road was unpolluted by footprints.

Ah, leave a path and see you another day!

But I know that the path is endless, and I am afraid that it will be difficult for me to return.

Maybe somewhere in many years, I'll look back on the past with a soft sigh:

There are two paths in a wood

And I chose the one with fewer people, and from then on decided the path of my life.

"The Body Worker" is a reportage work written by modern Chinese writer Xia Yan.

Downstairs in the seven-foot-wide and twelve-foot-deep workshop, sixteen or seventeen "pigs" lay horizontally and vertically. Following this mighty shout, in the air filled with the smell of sweat, feces, and moisture, they quickly stirred like a stirred honeycomb. Yawning, sighing, searching for clothes, wearing the wrong shoes, stepping on someone else's indiscriminately, shouting, urinating loudly on the toilet less than a foot above someone's head.

This ** embodies the beauty of family affection and the beauty of human nature: through the story of the mother and son who struggle strongly and inspire each other in a difficult situation, it movingly expresses the theme of unity, progress, unyielding, and struggle.

From the hillock to the west of one hundred and twenty steps, across the bamboo, smell the sound of water, such as the ring of the ring, the heart is happy. Cut down the bamboo to take the road, see the small pool below, and the water is especially clear. The whole stone is the bottom, near the shore, and the bottom of the rolled stone is out, for the di, for the island, for the ridge, for the rock. The green trees are verdant, swaying, and uneven.

The fish in the pool can have a hundred heads, all of which are like empty swimming and have nothing to rely on. The sun is shining, and the shadows are on the stones, and they are not moving; He is far away, and he goes back and forth. It seems to be fun with tourists.

Looking at the southwest of the pond, the snake is twisted and turned, and the light and extinction are visible. Its shore is different from each other, and its source is unknown.

Sitting on the pond, surrounded by bamboo trees on all sides, lonely and uninhabited, sad and cold, quietly gloomy. It is not allowed to live for a long time, but to remember it.

Fellow travelers: Wu Wuling, Gong Gu, Yu Di Zong Xuan. Those who are subordinate to each other, Cui's two junior students: say forgiveness, say Fengyi.