Grade 6 B language is a young singing after reading

We often say that teenagers are "teenagers in the flower season", with "in the mood for love", and this beautiful period is pure and real. We are happy and we are troubled, we are full of hope and expectation, and we are bold in asking ourselves how to recognize ourselves. Anyway, we are constantly growing, and we have to sing this song of growth softly for ourselves and keep moving forward.

Because we are teenagers, because we are pure, because we are growing up, we have all kinds of psychology and emotions. We grow pure and true, we recognize ourselves, examine ourselves, put aside our troubles, and grow more rationally and wisely.

Kiyoki Kazuki: Teachers and parents are having a parent-teacher conference, and we are very nervous under the tree. We hope that teachers and parents will understand us. Nameless Zone: We kept hurting that girl but she still cared about us, and we regretted it.

Sing Jian Ping for the young man.

A tree is clear and bright After the night falls, there will be a parent-teacher conference again. Grown-up gatherings are always held behind the night curtain. At this time, we are destined to be rejected.

So, we hid under the big tree and watched our parents come one by one. Their steps are in the same hurry, their faces are as serious, and they can't tell who is whose father and who is whose mother. We pointed, laughed.

At this time, they walked into the classroom, and in an instant, the blinding white light pierced through the uneasiness and embarrassment in their hearts. Suddenly, our hearts sank. I remember my crucifixion when I was called to the office by my teacher after class.

At that time, we stood alone, and the teacher counted down our mistakes, one would become ten, and occasionally it would become more often. The most distressing thing is that some things are different from us. We want to say, Teacher, can I sit down?

But the teacher got tired of waving us away. In the long corridor, we would quietly shed a few tears, sometimes admitting mistakes, sometimes grievances. We tell very well.

Now, the teacher is flipping through a thick notepad, and our mistakes from a semester will be cleared at this point. Moms and dads won't be able to hold their heads up. But why, after a while, they would rush to the teacher one by one, arguing that their children were not angry, and they also shook out the little things that had washed a few broken bowls.

When they get home, they lose their temper for no apparent reason. Alas, we are always at fault, we are wrong children. We are doomed.

Now, then, let's sit quietly for a while under the moonlit tree. The moonlight is so pure and pure that it is like our tears. We see ourselves clearly in our own tears.

That day, we picked up a poor kitten in the sandpit, maybe we shouldn't have brought the kitten into the classroom, let alone learned to meow in order to urge the teacher to get out of class, and the angry teacher found the kitten and threw it downstairs through the window. This time, we all shed tears; We thought, we understand what a mistake is. The moonlight is so soft, as soft as we expected.

I hope we can always shine on such a peaceful and gentle moonlight. Will the mistakes we make growing up beautiful in moonshine? I really want to fall asleep tonight with the roots of the trees covered with silver glow.

The stars sleep overnight and the sun rises. I wish the adults had finished their parent-teacher conferences and sat under the moonlit tree for a while, when they would go back to when they were children.

Yes, in the second semester of the sixth grade, in "Chinese".

I want it too...

Young young singing (Jian Ping) one of the trees Qinghui with poems.

Moonlight, faded.

The night is sinking.

Only the gentle water of the lake.

Singing the sad songs one by one.

Only the faint ridge.

Sing the voice of the young man.