If you want to write well in junior high school, you must have a level

In February, when the grass grows and the warbler flies, in this season when the mountains are full of flowers, we come to the martyrs' monument to remember you, and the seventy-seven revolutionary martyrs who are buried here Through the smoke and clouds of history, we seem to see The flames of the Great Revolution have burned all over the fields of the motherland Through the time and space of the years, we seem to see the military flag of the "First Army of the Tujia" Reflecting the mountains and rivers of our hometown The Tujia sons and daughters carrying big swords and spears Walking into our field of vision with majestic steps Stepping on the homeland stained red by the blood of the martyrs We seem to see that under the guns of the enemy Your mountain-like backbone Your unyielding integrity The five-star red flag fluttering in the wind It is your blood that dyes it red The red scarf on our chests It is your blood that dyes it red Here, we swear by the mountains Here, we swear by the Qingjiang River We must know the blessings in the blessings Study hard, make progress every day Always ready - Inherit the will of the martyrs For the prosperity and strength of the motherland For the rejuvenation of the nation For the glorious communist cause Dedicate - everything you have! The fourth class of the first grade of Oilfield Art High School in Puyang City, Henan Province Sheng Xinqi.

No matter when, the people will always remember you, my beloved revolutionary martyrs, although you can no longer see your heroic body in this world, but your soul will always live in our hearts, the shame of history, we will not forget, you are the pride of the sons and daughters of China, is the example of the sons and daughters of China, today's China, you have exchanged your lives, I worship you, I respect you, please rest assured, we will take up the heavy task of building the motherland, step by step, study hard, To fulfill your unfulfilled wishes... Qingming Festival is coming, I wish you all eternal happiness in heaven, on behalf of my classmates, I bow deeply to you and salute!

Comments on this site: At first glance, this essay is a little scattered, but it is really scattered, and the author's words are floating around like thoughts. But after careful scrutiny, it was found that these words were actually written with black lines on birthdays, although the words were scattered, but they were always paving the way for birthday gifts, especially the composition began with a dream and ended with a dream, and I couldn't help but sigh at the ingenuity of the author's writing.

Great article.

Original Text Appreciation:

Snow in the summer. The room was empty, as far as I could remember, except for the "ticking" of the clock.

It's the same birthday again, sitting alone in front of the TV and eating potato chips all day. I turned up the volume to the maximum, but I still didn't know what was playing. Probably TV shopping.

Unexpectedly, the phone rang. Looking through the inbox, there are only seven words: If you are free, meet at the bookstore.

If you're bored, just go out for a walk. So we made an appointment to meet. The acquaintances on the road kept screaming, and there were hardly any people to be seen on the road.

I waited at the gate for a long time before I saw that he was late. I was a little displeased, but he smiled and said to me, "Go in."

I jokingly said, don't study hard, still watch**?

Unexpectedly, he, who loves money, is extremely generous today and insists on having him treat. I can't help it, so I have to let him go. Then he ordered twice as much food as we had eaten, until we touched our stomachs and pushed for the next piece of chicken wings, so we had no choice but to pack them and take them away.

On the long road leading to the station, probably to concentrate on digestion, we didn't speak, basking in the sun and listening to the cicadas, our steps were slow but firm. It wasn't until the bus came that he finally slipped the book into my hand, smiled, and said to me, Happy Birthday. Quickly jumped into the car and waved at me.

I took a look at the book, "A Thousand Kinds of Organs of Snow," by Liu Yong. When I looked up again, I found that even the shadow of the car was blurred.

Oh, it's a gift. A fiery gift with a hint of summer.

It turns out that every second of today's time is a gift. Who gave it? I can't figure it out.

In fact, this kind of friendship is the best gift I have ever received.

If I could dream that again, if I could, I would have held the snow, ran forward, and laughed out loud with everyone.

It is recommended that you go to the library and see it. I was going to copy it for you, but you can find what I can find. Wake up.