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九月。阳光下。我念你们的名字,我写你们的名字。可是,今天!那一张张稚气的小脸为什么再也不见,只留下一串串远去的记忆。重新翻开那微黄的记忆。和着一首熟悉的旋律,这些记忆化作一首首美妙的诗行,伴着氤氲的茶香,在九月的空气里发酵。九月的空气散着迷人的香!还记得,那一天,我走进教室,天使们手捧世界上最美的花朵,轻轻念着那句:老师,您辛苦了,天真的小脸上满是泪痕。我知道,你们爱我。你们爱我的拥抱,爱我的微笑,爱我讲过的每一句鼓励的话语。可如今那娇艳的鲜花,早已枯萎。不,没有!我们就
September. in the sun. I read your name, I write your name. However, today, why the little face of a childish child no longer see, leaving only a string of memories away. Re-open that yellowish memory. And a familiar melody, these memories into a first wonderful poem line, accompanied by shabby tea, fermented in the air in September. Remember the day, I went into the classroom, the angels holding the world’s most beautiful flowers, gently read the phrase: teacher, you worked hard, naive face was full Is the tears. I know, you love me. You love my hug, love my smile, love every word that I have spoken. But now that blooming flowers, already withered. No, no! We will