长篇英语美文摘抄

　　长篇英语美文摘抄1

　　In a few years, I have not set foot on this moonlit path. The path is the father's hand with the cobblestone, the moonlight under the dim light of soft. At the end of the road, the little hut on the side of the river was connected to my father. Father, do you still sit on the shore, blowing the flute plaintive, waiting for the return of his son?

　　Loving father of piper. When I was young, my father sound full of my childhood fun, like the ribbon Creek, pulling my heart around in the father love of the harbor. My father hurts my only son, and he likes to use rough pairs.

　　Hand pinch my face, regardless of my pain to cry, still silly smile. Every single day, my father took me to the river on the grass cattle. My father often let their cattle rope let the cattle graze himself from the grass behind the basket in his flute, muster cheek, blowing out the most beautiful music in the world. I leaned on my father's legs, watching the sunset at the end of the sky to dye my father's hair blonde. I love my father, the most beautiful sound of father.

　　With the growth of the age, I began to hate his father, he was full of hate the smell of smoke, hate his yellow teeth; hate him back to the school to find me a basket of grass, also from the window just staring at me, I also hate him no skill, only know how to handle a few acres of thin, even my tuition has not been able to earn. My father and I were gradually separated. After I was roared for a few times, my father no longer went to school to see me barefoot, no longer nagging me to study well. He kept silent, and the only way to break the silence is playing the flute, such as resentment, such as mu, and in my opinion, it has become a symbol of raffish.

　　I went to school to go to school. The night before I left, I walked up to the familiar path and felt a bit of love and love. The road is like the trace of the moonlight on the ground, and it has crossed my heart. I haven't returned home for a few years. My mother told me on the phone, I go after father's day, like a lost soul like, Chafanbusi, just go to the river to play the flute. Finally, I returned home at the request of my mother. It was the night at home, the moon was rising, and when I was walking on the path with endless thoughts, I met my father. I was all of a sudden cry, clinging to the father. I asked my father gave me a piper, his father promised. The siren sounded in the ears and choked, ringing in the moonlight on the path, remind me. I feel that the father bring love, feel unworthy of his flute, father love me, love my son. He has been blowing the flute for eighteen years for me, and I've only now found that it resonates so strongly with my heart.

　　The road is beautiful and beautiful, it is the mark of the month. April is the road of the soul, the father is my heart!

　　长篇英语美文摘抄2

　　It's still the way, the way to the school. It has been wearing a lot of dust all the time, making it impossible to see its brilliance. I can't find the scenery along the road or the end.

　　But on this day, it looks like it. The red brick is covered with the original bare soil, mild suppressed, the soil will no longer have the sand filled impulse, red and white color was dotted with monotonous scenery, let the silent streets have a humorous mood. I embarked on this road and connected with the heart of the earth. The verdant green also replaced the former barren, although no spring buds of the primary green, no summer lush with the game, but they stand upright, dedicated to the surrounding land, people at ease. I was leaning against a tree, and I felt that the future had a different and long road, and whether there was a beautiful landscape along the way.

　　At a glance, I found them on the way. They have a black rose like skin, hard and still firm eyes, shovel, hammer tools standing beside it. I can stay, yeah, the scenery is such kind of people as they create, in order to complete such a scenery, they suffer many times from the sun baked, they spend many youth when they are migrant workers from afar, they are the scenery of the creator, the foundation they are also the times. Maybe they didn't dream very far away, they only wanted to bring the future to their families, so they came to their strange city, sniffing the breath of the heavy city and doing their humble work. But they exist, is the city's roots, without them, the scenery of the city, high-rise buildings, beautiful downtown, lush green will be broken up. Their hearts maintain family and country, let each other heart beat, passion and power.

　　The road is a landscape, they are — — the thousands of workers are more scenic. They are like the spring thaw, full of vitality and hope, all the students like summer, fully equipped for: simple and heavy: like autumn, and winter fruits: lingering sentiments, shy, proud and clank.

　　It's still the way, but I know why I go, because it's the way to the future.