Mid-year exam composition 1 teachers and students:
Hello, everyone, let me tell my story.
Spring. The wind is getting softer and softer, and every touch has the power to open a flower. Wildflowers on the roadside are swaying, like children's smiling faces, reflecting into an oil painting under the sunlight. There is a faint vapor in the air, which gently climbs up my hair. The daughter behind the bicycle raised her delicate little face and said faintly with her eyes, Dad, your hair smells good, like the sun. I smiled confidently and rode my bike harder, facing the rising sun, as if to ride into the sun.
In summer, I carry my backpack and walk firmly on the concrete road. It seems that every step is the last time I set foot on this land and I don't want to look back. I said, I want to travel. I don't want to die of old age in this small town. I want to find a new life and create more happiness for my family.
I said to the woman, wait for me. The woman nodded firmly with tears in her eyes, held my hand, closed her fingers, and released them the next second.
I told my daughter to be good. The daughter skipped away.
Sunflowers on the roadside are blooming wantonly and enthusiastically, as if to use up all their strength, just for the most beautiful moment. That day, I left without looking back.
Autumn. A cool breeze blows gently. The woman has been coughing for several days, and her daughter asked her to go to the hospital. The woman shook her head resolutely and refused to leave. A woman's face is like brown paper dyed yellow by time, without a trace of life. The woman lay quietly in bed, staring blankly at the earthen roof. After a while, he said: The baby's father has gone to Africa, which is arachis duranensis. How nice! The old man in the village shook his head: I'm afraid I won't live through the end of the year.
In winter, the windows are wrapped in white, and my path away from home is covered with snow, like a bright road. There are several rows of footprints on the road, but the dead world is frightening. I'm back. As soon as I entered the room, I took out a pile of money and thought about building a big house. Suddenly I remembered something.
Where's mother?
It's gone.
Where have you been?
On the hillside of Houshan.
Time seemed to stand still for an instant, and I froze. I have been working hard outside all these years, but I have never come home. I kept going, but I forgot to turn back. As a result, I lost the most important person.
Regret it? No regrets. If you want to struggle, there will be sacrifices, and all the ups and downs will turn into the poems of the strugglers. After winter, it will be spring, and we will start again next year.
Thank you, teachers and classmates, for cheering me on!
Mid-term exam composition 2 "Your photo was developed last semester and is on your desk. Promise." As soon as I got home, I heard my mother's words. I quickly went back to my room to take a closer look. Sure enough, a small white paper bag was covered with a pile of plastic photos, and the smooth photos slipped from my hand. After lifting the pen and solemnly writing down the words "20 16 years eight times", I can't help but sigh again that another stage has passed.
Things that have been recorded for a period of time like this will always get special treatment in our family. So I slowly and seriously opened the bookcase, trying to lock it in the drawer and put it with the things of the past. I was about to drink the drawer when I suddenly saw what I had put in before, and my thoughts involuntarily went back to the past.
Open the diary of the previous primary school, with a dark yellow paper cover and a little dust on it. Inside, on the page of the paper, the imprint of the blue and black pen has begun to show the traces of time carving. "In today's Chinese class, the teacher dictated the first two pages of the outline ..." That is probably not good at writing. The diary is written like a running account. However, every time I read a book, it seems that I can still see the thin and strict teacher of that year. The voice was small and dignified. On the platform, behind one hand and holding a dictation book in the other, my sharp eyes swept over everyone in the teacher and I spoke slowly. It seems that I can still feel the worries and expectations hidden behind her strictness.
This is a greeting card from Santa Claus seven years ago. The familiar handwriting is "Santa Claus". I still remember the disappointment and sadness when the fairy tale of "Santa Claus" was poked, but it was more the warmth of being blessed every year despite knowing the truth. From 2009 to 20 13, in five greeting cards, the author's name and the decorative color of the cards were changed, but the same blessing and care remained unchanged. Even years later, that love is the background color on the card that will never disappear.
Of course, there is this bookmark. I was still in the ward. Looking around, the room is a comfortable environment, such as pale color. Wrapped in layers of orange and red paper, it is a delicate heart. Always say the words as they are. Behind those signatures with different handwriting styles, it seems that their concerned faces are still rippling, their voices of condolences are lingering, and gloomy laughter is heard. ...
Those are gifts, the friendship and warmth left by the spring and autumn of fourteen years. Carefully collect them, remember them, close the drawer, and only feel warm in my heart. Diaries, greeting cards, bookmarks ... these humble things just contain the blessings and expectations of those who accompanied me through those years. I will always cherish this gift.
Time flies in the noise of the world, and we can't remember when we met and when we parted. Time flies, but we never stop. Those old days that cherish each other are forgotten with the passage of time. Time lets us have it again and again, and lose it again and again. Have you ever waited at the end of time?
Standing on the other side of the years, picking up an old time and listening to the sadness in the distance, whose story is pale and waiting? Whose mind has forgotten the time? I think, you should sit in the corner of time with me, watching the worldly ups and downs, watching the scene of idiotic dreams; Maybe go back to the secular fireworks and slowly count the old days that have been flowing for a long time. He walks slowly, but he is easily forgotten. How many times I want to look back, I can find my memory is fuzzy. In your mind, maybe the past has vanished; But there are always some people who bury their memories in their hearts and never forget them. Do you remember the past and the vicissitudes of life? Do you remember people getting to know each other? Has anyone seen you turn around? Or hold your head high and look back at those irretrievable years? Perhaps I caught a glimpse of your smile in a trance, as shallow as a flower, as slender as the past years, and as a tune, melting into the warmth of my heart. You seem to be quietly watching time, sitting next to it, thinking about how many earthly sorrows this light life has experienced. I seem to have seen you at the end of time. What are you waiting for? Are you forgetting the past or wasting your chewing time?
The outline of the years is still silent, but do you remember the past? The world, I know, you will eventually fall into the world. Time can easily throw people away. Sometimes, I am afraid that time has not found you. Your silence is your best answer. The end of time is always separated, and you are afraid to see it, so you are so sad. You can't always cling to time. Years will hurt you black and blue, but you still smile like a flower. Perhaps, time is a good medicine to make you forget the pain. Perhaps, time makes you lose more beauty. You seem to miss the past, waiting at the end of time, waiting for the lost years.
I think at the beginning of time, I hope we don't forget each other. Traces of time and years, homesickness and sighs, even if they are sad, only stay in the past. Time passes at the fingertips, and the story once became a broken memory; That touching oath has become absurd. The memory of time is like a dream, shattered into nothingness, and finally the song ends. You stand at the end of time, don't want to leave, and recall the past.
In this world, sharing weal and woe is human nature. I really seem to see someone standing at the end of time. It's you. Wait here.
Sunshine is everywhere, the heat is filled with flowers, and sadness is like a faint flower fragrance. Memories of you are like frames of scenery gently unfolded by the wind of years. The days we passed together, the wonderful bits and pieces, will be my eternal treasure.
Looking back on the past years, I am deeply grateful to you naughty and tolerant children. I can't grow up with you Isn't our big family of more than 60 people just growing up?
In the reading activities of scholarly classes in Henan Province, Class One won the 5th and 6th Scholarly Class Awards and the 7th Scholarly Class Special Award. That year, we were named "Five Good League Branches" in the district. Our class meeting class has been shown many times as an observation class. At the moral education seminar of middle school principals in the whole region, our class meeting "I love my family" received rave reviews ... these are the results of our joint efforts.
We've been through more than that.
We raised money for children in Yushu disaster area in Qinghai, and the scene of charity sale on the playground made our blood boil; We took to the streets to contribute to creating health; We walked into the revolutionary memorial hall and pursued the red footprint; We go to the children's welfare home on holidays and bring love and warmth; In spring, we bathed in books, "reading at that time when flowers bloom"; We are grateful to our mother during the festival, "How deep is the mother's love"; On the Dragon Boat Festival, we eat zongzi together. "Zongzi is fragrant and sunny at home"; Autumn sports meeting, we unite and struggle, passionate; With tears in our eyes and a smile on our lips, we sang together: "We are all a family, a family that loves each other ..."
Too many memories come to mind. They are as bright as stars and as beautiful as wild flowers. Because of your company and our common weaving, the plain years have also been woven into beautiful brocade. The scenery treasured in the heart will not fade because of the erosion of wind and rain, and the people treasured in the heart will not forget it because of the passage of time.
There is a song "The most romantic thing I can think of ..." in my ear. The most romantic thing I can think of is that I am getting old and you are growing up healthily and happily. When I was sitting in the warm sunshine with silver hair and looking through old photos, I thought: At that time, your appearance was still so clear, and I think my heart is still so young because I have you in my heart.
Maybe I'm just a passer-by in your life, but your appearance has made my three years full and beautiful.
Just like the years in that song, we walked together, we don't need to remember, but we will never forget.
There is a kind of love for separation, take off from here! Fly to a higher and farther world. I will be here, quietly waiting, quietly blessing, quietly listening to the voice of your life jointing.
Dear teachers and students:
Hello!
Thirty years later, standing in this place again and saying that familiar sentence to you again, I found my voice a little out of control. Time is ruthless, leaving traces of time on your face and mine. However, the past years have grown into poems, and the feelings in our hearts have never left us.
Teenagers don't know the taste of sorrow and fall in love with the floor. I still remember when we were young, we laughed and played naughty in this familiar campus. In spring, we scramble to pick up the scattered caterpillars. In summer, we tread water in the puddle of the playground and enjoy it; In autumn, we struggle with petioles in the fallen leaves; In winter, we lie by the window together, hoping that the snow elves will visit the world. Now, although we may no longer be interested and have no physical strength to go crazy, the joy at that time has become a long and short sentence that is always sweet in our hearts.
This is a night for men to study. In school days, we not only have fun, but also have various struggles with our classmates. I still remember that at seven o'clock in the morning, we did morning exercises on the playground. During the day, the classroom is the battlefield for us to attack the knowledge highland; After the evening self-study, we walked back to the dormitory in twos and threes, leaving the fatigue of a day's study in the classroom; In the middle of the night, I will never forget the tension and frankness of secretly having a sleep meeting in the dormitory. At that time, although we were also bitter and tired, our minds were simple and our tasks were simple. Looking back now, the struggle at that time has become a bittersweet melody.
Mochow has no bosom friend before, and everyone knows you. I remember 30 years ago today, we gathered here, we laughed and cried together. We are reluctant to go, and our hearts are uneasy. But in the end, we read our lofty sentiments together. Since we can never stop here and now, let the whole world remember my name! At that time, we were full of energy and lofty sentiments, which made us mellow and spicy, and I never forget it.
Today, after 30 years of ruthless time, we are reunited here. Our memory of * * * has not been washed away by years, but it has washed away the lead and left immortal poems in our hearts. From now on, we still have our own life and struggle, but I believe that these poems with our youthful breath will connect us forever!
thank you
At 6 o'clock in the evening, I fell on the bed and accompanied my mother to turn over photos. My mother turned over all the photos of her previous home, and brought them to my eyes one by one. She walked over to me and said, Look how naughty you were when you were a child. Yes, I was a little boy six years ago.
Six years have passed, how has everything changed so much? Six years. Why is it six years at once?
When I was young, Wei Wei, Wen Jing and I, the three of us stuck together all day; Where to go a little, Wenjing and I will follow. Because the three of us are so alike, like conjoined twins all the time, people who don't know always think that the three of us jumped out of the same womb.
I don't know how many years passed, except at that time, we were still babbling, but we were all arrogant when we were young, and there were more boys than boys.
I always vaguely remember the incident when I was a child in my memory:
The three of us went to the mud, humming a tune all the way, "Pick up two oars ...". Passing through a clearing, I saw a little girl painting alone in the clearing. At that time, we didn't know what loneliness was. I just feel sorry for that little girl. When we were ready to take her to play together, we saw two boys about our age driving away. The little girl came to us crying and said, Sister, they bullied me ... We saw the little girl's tears crashing down, just like a hungry baby saw breast milk crashing down. That's called heartache.
The three of us ran angrily. "Hey, you bully girls shameless? Apologize to her! "
I don't know if it's because we are too fierce, or for some other reason, those two actually cried for their mother. We stood in the same place and froze.
It's getting dark, and the sun has set in an age we don't know. Ear, is that a crow or a sparrow's voice; Childhood is a lesson for parents.
"How come there are no girls in girls' homes? From top to bottom, gee, it's all mud! How to bully others again! Won't you be quiet? "
"The child's father, you talk less, the child will be scared."
"She will be afraid? She'll be scared and won't make trouble! Go and apologize! "
"Uncle aunt I'm sorry, we didn't mean to ..."
"Don't say that, our small north is also wrong, don't blame you."
"Don't say that. Our Xiao Yang is also at fault. I don't blame you."
All five of us laughed, and we laughed warmly.
Finally, we became best friends.
In the thirty-first year of Shaoxing in Song Dynasty, the nomads invaded the south.
A young man who is only 2 1 year old looks grim. He polished his sword and pointed to the north! He jumped on the battlefield and organized two thousand people to fight against the enemy. In a blink of an eye, year after year, the young man became more resolute in the Jin Ge iron horse. In the face of the mess that the Lord was killed and the team was dissolved, he was only 22 years old and he was not flustered or impatient. He decisively led more than 50 people to raid the enemy camp of tens of thousands of people and brought the traitors back. For a time, the young man became famous. At the age of 23, he was hand-picked by the emperor and signed in Jiangyin.
This is a great era, such as thunder and hurricane. At the age when others have nothing, this young man has defended his country with his own jerseys and weapons and achieved himself. He is Xin Qiji, and the hero is so magnificent.
However, this is also a truly eventful autumn. Xin Qiji was falsely accused of loyalty. He didn't defend himself in the face of many evidences submitted. "The hero has exhausted his tears in the Central Plains, and the Lord has no intention of the Northern Expedition." Although the world is big, there is no room for heroes; Although the glass is small, it can reflect the fatigue of the five lakes. One sunny afternoon, he wiped a handful of tears, took a sip of wine and sighed lightly: Go to Shangrao.
All steel has become soft fingers. Xin Qiji, who was concerned about the battlefield, didn't know that he would create the peak of China's ci history with incomparable arrogance.
Idle days are quiet days. The countryside in spring is full of vitality, "the eaves are low and the streams are green." "You are drunk, Wu's voice is charming, but who has white hair?" At this time, is he immersed in this leisurely and quiet country life?
Idle days are days of poetry and wine. After the snow, Chu Qing, a friend of the cat, visited, and the two met after a long separation on the stone bridge in front of the village, raising their glasses and drinking. As drunk as a fiddler, Xin Qiji had mixed feelings. In the face of friends, he not only sings "drunk watching the sword, but dreaming of blowing the horn." Give the roast beef to the men and the band will play northern songs. Soldiers on the battlefield in autumn. "Bold language, words all the way, let a person surge of emotion surge. Until the "poor white hair", everything disappeared without a trace, which is an illusion.
This is also a great era. Xin Qiji unconsciously stood at the peak of China's ci history. At this time, he gathered up his ambition and became gentle and sad.
Thanks to this magical era, such a hero has been created. The hero has passed away, and the integrity is still there; Poetry is bitter, and the heroism of heaven and earth lasts forever.
At an unclear moment, a clear word comes to mind: walking slowly on the banks of years.
Life is an experience again and again. There is no distinction between good and bad. The meaning of life is to make every day different. After reading sousu, you will understand that the future is unpredictable by cherishing every day you live. Put aside your troubles, get rid of depression, know how to let go, learn to let go, and realize that Bodhi has no trees, the mirror is not a stage, and there is nothing, so where is the Zen that causes dust?
Live every second, every minute, every moment and every day happily. Although this is a luxury wish, it can at least be an attitude towards life that we pursue.
Fifteen or sixteen, the same age as flowers. At that time, we were convinced that innocence was the most beautiful.
Under the scorching sun, sweat kept dripping, and I just got off the track of the physical education entrance examination, and there were crystal beads of sweat hanging between my hair and my eyebrows. Breathing is still a little messy. The head teacher offered to take a photo as a souvenir, and I didn't have time to arrange my hair and dress up. It's just that I haven't been holding my hair with my hands all the time. The wet strands of hair are always hanging in a neutral and messy way, and the flash is flashing. After careful adjustment, I left a Gherardini expression.
Everyone ran to see the photos, and the other students were smiling. Clear water gives birth to hibiscus, and their smiles are so innocent and beautiful, no matter the confusion of temples or the flow of sweat, how beautiful this smile is.
In the dead of night, the moonlight gently sprinkled on the window, and a child was leaning on the desk to burn the midnight oil. That's me in the third grade. Rubbing my sore arm, I stretched myself and stared at the moonlight outside the window. So I fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning to finish my homework, I had an extra coat on me. I know what my mother put on me at that time, but I just feel a warm current coming to my heart. During that time, despite the hardships, I felt the beauty of my family.
At that time, I only loved madness. I talk about the city I yearn for and the place I want to go every day. Now I like silence more and more. I like to sit quietly in front of the sunny window, nest on the sofa, quietly spread a book on my lap and listen to music quietly. That's it. Very good.
I just want to walk slowly on the banks of the years, as long as I don't forget my way home and my original dream.
The composition of the mid-year entrance examination was on April 9, Qingming. I couldn't stand the irritability before the middle school entrance examination, and finally found an opportunity to escape and set foot on a long-lost land. Stroll by the lake and enjoy the hard-won peace. The gentle breeze is swaying the sentimental willow branches, the warm morning sun is swaying the warmth and comfort, the faint white clouds are elegant and leisurely, and the exquisite birds are whispering the quiet feelings? Everything in nature develops with the seasons. No hurry, no delay, never absent. Walking on the quiet river bank, surrounded by sunshine, the feeling of happiness ripples in a faint mood.
The grass is swaying gently in the breeze, and the leaves are smiling in the kiss of the sun, so fresh, so green and so beautiful! In the distance is a dark mountain, and suddenly a sentence "See Nanshan leisurely" pops up in my mind. Yes, this is Tao Yuanming's artistic conception under the hedge of picking chrysanthemums. I think that the reason why he chose not to bow down for five dou meters in those years has something to do with the tranquility and comfort of nature, right? In this thriving nature, everyone will get rid of the mundane complexity and touch the delicate tenderness, not to mention the poetic simplicity of Tao Yuanming.
Peach blossoms are in full bloom in front, and pink peach blossoms are next to each other, filling the whole branch like a cloud. Look closely, some are blooming in the wind and smiling; Some are in bud, and Shimada Hanzo is half exposed; More are small red buds in the powder. There are no bees and butterflies, and no one watches and appreciates them. Peach blossoms bloom in silence, which has nothing to do with romance and others, and enjoys Hui Ze from heaven with a pious attitude. Suddenly, I realized Tashi Lamodo's watching and not watching: whether you can't see me, I'm there, neither sad nor happy. Miss me, or don't miss me, that feeling is there, and it won't come or go. Whether you love me or not, love is there. If you don't increase or decrease your heart, live slowly, love better and keep your true self, life will be interesting.
I don't know how long it took, but slowly I came to the end of the embankment and turned to look in the direction I came from. It was a wonderful time, but I can't go back. The embankment of the years is still very long, and I can slowly embark on my life. In fourteen years, I missed many scenery of my life; In the future, I will cherish it more, walk slowly and taste the flowers of life slowly. Unloading my tired body, I turned and walked leisurely towards home.
Years of senior high school entrance examination composition 10 smile, no complaints, carefree, free and unrestrained, casual. It will be a hundred years before a flower blooms.
-inscription
Walk slowly, watch slowly, watch the spring breeze melt the frost, the summer leaves are lush, the autumn leaves are bleak, and the winter snow covers the bustling.
Carve an hourglass of time, where we stand, fragile and ambiguous, and all the impulses are only to find an exit for the soul, such as flower apoptosis.
Regret being young in the past, worry about how to write, and worry about a new word alone in a tall building. Now, what can I say when sadness comes? I have to say, it's cold, autumn is coming, and the cold rain is light. Who has recalled those past events? A glass bead, a pit, a piece of grass or a slap. A scolding and a scar. These once carried the memories of our years. Who will remember?
Do you remember her? The first person who taught you to write your own name, the first person who taught you to add, subtract, multiply and divide, and the first person who taught you to recite "A ray of light as bright as the foot of my bed". She is the person you have been facing for years. Yes, she is a teacher.
Maybe your mother was the first enlightener in your life. But the teacher is the planner of your life. Do you remember? That's right. We can argue with our parents. But he is definitely a good boy in front of the teacher. The teacher's words are an absolute imperial edict and cannot be disobeyed. I don't know if you have calculated it. If you are eighteen now, you belonged to your parents before you were five, but you spent thirteen years with your teacher. That's not all.
Now that we are grown up, we are also painful and happy. "Gambling books are so fragrant that it was not common at that time." When I waved, I couldn't tell what I was like at that time. Noisy songs have also become indifferent words. Sometimes, I always feel that we grow up like hedgehogs. With sharp thorns every day, I want to embrace warmth. But it will only make you black and blue. Gradually, we learned to be secular and learn to find pleasure in suffering, which seems a bit serious. But this is our job. We always like to let ourselves suffer some unnecessary sadness.
The years are slowly passing by. Some people appear in life and then disappear. Some people stay for a long time and then disappear. When a person is around us, we don't know when and where to leave him. Just like we don't know death when we love ourselves.
Carefree, unrestrained, casual, casual. Grasp everything in front of you, smile and don't complain. The years are quiet.
1 1 staring at the hourglass on the desk, it slipped down unhurriedly, for thousands of years. At this moment, I feel that the years have passed, but looking back, I can't find any traces of the past. I am like a naive child, picking up the bits and pieces of that year by the river of memory. I'm sorry, I lost so much. The only thing that impressed me in my memory was the old house, standing at the end of the country like a kind old man, waiting for my return.
I never thought that the old house would collapse one day, just like it collapsed at that moment with a thousand years of sadness, like a wandering and exhausted wanderer who suddenly fell on the vast Gobi desert and no longer had the strength to move himself. A wooden stick on the beam hit the ground when I fled in panic, as if to take me into my arms. I don't know whether to cry for her or to be glad that I survived.
I was in a trance for several days, and the house fell down, and the only trace left by the years suddenly became silent. I just remembered that the wall was covered with awards from my sister and me and a wicker straw hat woven in spring. Although it has dried, my memory still exists. It's a pity that the traces left by the years have not been discovered until now. The old house that accompanied me for many years witnessed my growth. Although I can't speak, I understand her mind.
When I saw my uncle's newly decorated residence, I missed the old house even more. The orange light shines in the small room. Under the light, my mother's patched back and I insist on doing my homework. It has been several months since I went home again, and the new foundation has been laid, but I have no joy. I don't know if there is an old house groaning under the foundation, and I feel like a homeless child. No matter how good the new house is, it is lifeless and doomed to be out of my life. My soul has been given to the old house. All warm pictures can only be like the photos in the photo frame on the wall, which exist in the depths of memory and emit lasting fragrance.
From the moment I fell from the old house, I was trying to find it, for fear that those blurred traces of time would be silent with the old house, just like people shivering in the cold wind trying to catch the last burnt-out candle to warm their lives.
Pushing open the creaking door, the leaves on the papaya tree have fallen to the ground and the vines in the autumn wind are still there. Yes, they are still there. Just like every winter, they will germinate and grow again in the next spring. My relatives are here, and my grandparents are in good health, so I finally found the traces of time, looked at the yellow and round papaya on the tree, and finally smiled easily in its refreshing aroma one afternoon after the collapse of the old house.