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那洁白的粉笔之魂,从老师的手上飘飘洒洒,落在她苍苍的白发上,和那银丝融在一起；落在她整洁的衣服上,点缀出梨花般的诗意。我愿献上一首粉笔屑之歌,向我的老师们致敬。那一回,语文老师擦完黑板转过身,我们都哄笑起来。原来, 在她的鼻翼上落了一些粉笔灰。她怔了一下, 轻声说：“请大家安静!”接着,又在黑板上写起来。下课了,她带着一身的粉笔屑走了。几个“调皮鬼”笑起来,还吟诵着不知从哪儿学来的几句诗：“最妙的是下点儿小雪呀,看吧……树尖上顶着一髻白花,好像……”此时,我却没
The white chalk soul, drifting from the hands of the teacher, fell on her gray hair, and the silver melt together; fell on her neat clothes, embellished with pear-like poetic. I would like to offer a song of chalk crumbs to pay tribute to my teachers. At that time, the language teacher finished the blackboard and turned around, and we all smiled. It turns out, some chalk dust fell on her nose. She was startled, whispered: “Please be quiet!” Then, on the blackboard, write again. After class, she took a piece of chalk crumbs gone. Several “naughty” laughed, but also recite a few poems I do not know where to learn: “The best thing is a bit of snow under it, look ... on the tip of a bun, like ... ”At this moment, I did not