Youth burns in the fields of the countryside.
Jumping thoughts, so anxious in the morning of July.
Hate iron not to produce, Xia Feng melodious.
It has become the power of youth to summon the soul.
Vilen, a farmer, still has a noisy hope.
In July, say goodbye for a while.
Let me have a rest. what can I do?
I'm useless, looking for spiritual sustenance in books.
Summer is coming, so sad.
Every year.
Is there much homework in the summer vacation?
I'm glad I don't do some superficial work.
let nature take its course
I used to use a balance.
Weigh your conscience.
Youth infested campus, lose weight.
Those decadent factions still dominate Langlang Gankun.
Ridiculous, and only in the form of poetry.
Longing for the glow of fireflies
Let the mind not be barren
two
This morning, it was sunny.
Last night, Xia Feng passed by
The lights in the teaching building are particularly bright.
There was no water, and I heard it in the silence.
Dialogue between the moon and the stars
Children have so much homework.
Alexander
Well, I'm just a teacher.
I also eat fireworks.
I can't see the pure moonlight.
My heart is like a mirror.
Cui Cui's footsteps sounded softly.
I can't write my inner joy.
This is a sad song of the soul.
three
As the saying goes, as you sow, you reap.
What did I plant in class?
What did you grow?
Last night, Guizhou Education Online
One voice said it well.
"Winning the classroom is winning the life"
But can we win in class?
The tenderness of the starry sky is found all over the world.
We wait for the gift of heaven with wishful thinking.
Hometown of education
It is possible to plant crooked melons and split dates.
I don't have to be sad to satisfy my heart.
Tomorrow will be better
spend freely
Look, father's field is cracked.
Need the baptism of rain
Let him moisten the dry seedlings.
To this end, I am making up a rain on a summer morning.
No accident, no pain, such a hearty situation.
Clouds in the distance
Still so slow
Why doesn't the education field need the baptism of a rainstorm?
Look at those flowers that will wither in summer.
Everything is always late.
Who doesn't think he is a knife?