Here, it is a garden, emitting fragrance; Here, it is the kitchen, giving nutrition; Here, is a playground, let us grow up happily, here is a beautiful place, let us feel a little comfortable and cool. Here, full of our memories, full of repeated books, take us to the direction of victory.

teacher

Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.

Who is it, playing the role of gardener, growing flowers in obscurity;

Who is it, tirelessly preparing lessons under the light, just for the wonderful class the next day;

When we make mistakes, who teaches people to regret again and again and who leaves sad tears;

When our exam results are not ideal, who is it, who inspires us again and again, or who leads us out of the deep valley of loss?

friend

Here, we met bosom friends.

Every comfort, every encouragement will warm your heart;

Every laugh, every fight, haunts us;

I still remember when I was a child, we were holding hands, green leaves covered the treetops, and birds were busy nodding to us;

I still remember on the way home, we were still holding hands, laughing and arguing, but we were still friends.

In the place where birds are singing and flowers are fragrant, gardeners are quietly cultivating and flowers are competing to open. ...

On September 10, the days of butterflies flying around came again.

The teacher's desk is full of all kinds of greeting cards, such as heart-shaped, square, light pink and turquoise ... at first glance, it seems to be floating, wave after wave.