您,用心血播种,用汗水浇灌。不是这心血,何来的程门立雪之典故;不是这汗水,何来的春蚕到死丝方尽之千古佳话?正是这千万支粉笔,架起了现实与理想的桥梁;正是这二尺教鞭,指引了迷失自我与方向的羔羊。老师,在这里,我不愿意用红烛春蚕来形容您,只怕幼稚的我,将师恩描绘得太淡太淡 You, planted hard, watering with sweat. It is not this effort, where is the story of Cheng Lillian snow; not this sweat, why the spring silk to the dead end of the wire to make the eternal story? It is this millions of chalk, set up a bridge between reality and ideals; it is This two-footer pointer leads the lost lamb to self and direction. Teacher, here, I do not want to use red candle spring silkworm to describe you, I'm afraid naive me,