Love will love

I cherish the sun, put warmth in my hand, wait for my open heart, and give those lonely children a bright smile. --Inscription

"Hey," the lively firecrackers sounded one after another, echoing the echoes of the people's hearts. Splendid fireworks bloom in the air, such as the sky filled with black silk, and the diamonds flash in the dark, the atmosphere of joy is filled in the air, intertwined with the color of the string in the TV. I was so excited that I was like a little bird. I jumped up and down and clashed. Until the soft music came out on the TV, I sat quietly back in the chair, because on the screen were the children of a group of migrant workers. They are dressed in different colors, some are black and thin, some are white, but their faces are with the same serious look. The childish voices are heard from the TV. They recite them from word to word. Inner poetry - their heart. Looking at their innocent eyes, I seem to be drinking a cup of bitter tea.

"Our campus is small and we can't put a pommel horse."

As if in an instant, my school appeared in my mind. Every morning, we are greeted by the grand school gates. The grassy and dense trails are full of playgrounds, and the volleyball and blue courts for our physical exercise are all available. The magnificent and magnificent teaching building is covered by trees. We feel the dreams of spring, the lush summer, the maturity of autumn, and the meditation of winter on a poetic campus. The school that can't put down a pommel horse seems to me to be a joke. The image I can outline is a crumbling tile house.

“Our classroom is very dark, with only a few watts of light.”

"Teacher, I can't see the words on the blackboard." One classmate interrupted the teacher's incessant lectures. The teacher frowned, and slammed the two chandeliers in front of the podium. This little episode alerted the students who were slumbering and sloppy. I sighed helplessly and stunned the window with some dazzling sunlight. It puts my shadows on the ground in large pieces. I close the window and pull the line of sight back onto the podium of the light. The light outside the window is naughty into the classroom and blends with the lights in the classroom...

"Our table and chairs are very old, sit up and mute."

I smiled a little bit, and the tables and chairs of our class were perfect with high-tech computers, projectors, etc. The new table was also very chic to design a hook for the students’ umbrellas. Under the ravages of some of my classmates, some tables and chairs are now "deaf and dumb."

I watched the children on TV, and the red scarf on their chest was as bright as a burning fire in the spotlight. They stood reluctantly, but the sound was soft and seemed to fit into the melody of the music, and the light gave them a faint outline.

"But our work is neat and the study is not bad!" Their voice suddenly increased a lot, making me a shock. "Others and I are better than parents, I am better than others!" Their eyes are filled with brilliance, and they express their love for their parents and their love for life. The thunderous firecrackers outside the window seemed to be isolated from the world for a moment, and my ears echoed their voice as if they were a statement.

The heart, the warmth of the waves, the poetry is full of difficulties, I am immersed in this poem.

Silently, I imprinted this poem in the depths of my heart. It taught me to keep everything I have now in my heart. What I long for is a kind of tolerant quality. Treat people around you with kindness, whether you live or study, and give them the warmth in the same way to those who need it.

The children of migrant workers have very few, but many of them are created. Their simplicity and enthusiasm are like a jade that has not been carved. Although the angular corners are somewhat different from the city, their innocence can purify the dirty air in the city. In fact, many children in the city have a very good life. We are soaked in honeypots, but we don’t want to give a little love. Let those lonely children grow up like us. They are the flowers of the motherland, the rising sun, and the future grand plans of the motherland are also part of their structure. A familiar song echoed in the ear: "As long as everyone gives a love, the world will become a beautiful world..."

Sixth grade: Lin Yongfan