Ask for a poem written by a 6th grade elementary school student

Snow Love. Fluttering sprinkles.

It's like a pear tree in heaven.

Flowers are swept down by the wind.

Leisurely. Like countless silver elves.

It's dancing and dancing.

You, from eternity, drifted away.

Transformed into billions of pink butterflies.

Fly into the dawn dream of Zhuang Sheng.

and feathers into beautiful music.

It flowed to the fingers of the Chu people.

Beautifully, I am reminded of a poet.

Why be in the cliffless wilderness of this plane?

There is a fantasy of fishing alone in the cold river.

I'm close to the window.

If you fly.

I also lost myself in the world of fairy tales.

Holy snow.

You will be a harbinger of a good year.

Spilled into my dreams.

A glad glance. Red.

It's a one-chamber fire.

Winter is the end of the year.

Spring is coming, you see ---

The willow tree sprouted green shoots.

Birds stand on the branches.

Twittering. As if nagging;

Sprouts are the end of winter.

Brother Feng heard it, and quickly shook his head, the green shoots are the exclamation mark of spring!

Aunt Swallow said that the buds that have just grown are the exclamation mark of spring.

The spring girl picked up the pen and wrote the first symbol!

Definitely written by a sixth-grader.

Spring. Despite hating spring, flowers are loved.

Despite hating summer, rain is lovely.

Despite hating autumn, I love falling leaves.

Even though I hate winter, I love the snow that falls.

As much as I hate this world, I only like you.

Poetry Cai Wei In the past, I went back, and the willows followed. Now I think about it, the rain and snow are falling.

Rain. Salad salad.

It's raining. It drifts with the wind.

Falling in the field.

Moisturize the paddies. Falling on people's umbrellas.

Do the game. Falling on the roof.

You chase after me. The rain crept in and went.

At one end of the day.

A beautiful rainbow appeared.

That's the embodiment of rain.

Look at. It looked at people happily.

Bring joy to people.

What day is October 1st?

It's the birthday of the Motherland.

The birthday of the Motherland is sacred and great.

The birthday of the motherland is the beginning of hope, and the birthday of the motherland is the beginning of the cradle of life.

The birthday of the Motherland, the beginning of happiness, the birthday of the Motherland, the beginning of peace!

Originally called high school, this six years of literacy, arithmetic, don't wait for leisure, learn to apply, dare to practice, Sima Luobin was amazed.

There is "Wen Guanjun Receives Henan and Hebei" "Shi'er" I only know so much, because I am only in the sixth grade, forgive me...

I really want to be a teacher, to do my part for the country, I want to be like a gardener.

Cultivating the flowers of the motherland, I think about ...... so much

I really want to be a firefighter, serve the people, help the people in dire straits, in the ** time, in the fire, etc., in all kinds of natural disasters.

I'm everywhere and I want to ......

Everyone loves the grass, and the earth is my home, so I want to ...... it

I really want to become a big tree, do my part for my motherland, absorb carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, release oxygen, live in the oxygen-deficient Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, so that Tibetan compatriots can get some new oxygen.

I think about it, I think about it......

I really want to be an inventor and do my part for the future, invent all kinds of safety windows, safety doors, for the benefit of future generations, I want to think about ......it

I think too much and too much to express in words, I want to study hard to make these ideals of mine realize as soon as possible, and I want to work hard to ......

The dust is suspended and the posture is melancholy.

Light shines through the eaves.

The warmth of the distant scene.

Staggered into warm-colored fireworks.

The long white dress has moss-green marks.

Breathe damp and cool as a lotus.

The rouge melted, and the shadow shattered to the ground.

The moonlight is still soft.

The lonely eyebrows are in vain.

The imprint is faint from the light of the window.

Ambiguous happiness And you.

Out of sight.

Authentic or transparent.

A dream within a dream, an anticipation after an expectation.

Reincarnation of fate. Thoughts and inspiration.

It's sober through the veins of the season.

Or continue to indulge.

Extravagant sentimentality.

And it can always be like this.

Reach out and hold me in the palm of your hand.

The past is gone.

Bright sunshine.

Warmed up the peculiar winter that.

The bone-chilling wind.

It was filled with smiling faces.

No more cringe. No more fear.

It's just because of that.

December sunshine.

About motherly love.

O loving mother, you know.

If I were a bird, you would be a white cloud.

Under the blue sky, you are my only support.

Mother, you know.

If I were a small fish, you would be the sea.

In ordinary life, you are my important oxygen.

Mother, you know.

If I'm grass, you're the sunshine.

In my happy self, you are my warm embrace.

Mother, the ** on the ground is coming, the leaves are shrunk on the branches, and I can only snuggle on your shoulders.

I wrote it myself, the first time I wrote it, it may not be very good, imitating Grandma Bingxin's "Starry Spring Water", and I mind if you read Bingxin's book, it will be helpful for your poetry writing. I hope this poem of mine will be helpful to you.

Whenever dawn comes.

I shook off the starlight, looked to the east, and stared quietly.

I am not afraid of loneliness and desolation in the dark night, because there is a long-planted hope in my heart.

Take a handful of morning dew, wash your dusty face, raise your head, and hold your chest high