“它们死了……”我喃喃地说。泪水无声地涌出来,顺着脸颊滴落。是的,小鸡死了,再也看不到它们可爱的身影了,再也听不到它们那清脆的叫声了,再也不能逗它们玩了。是的,再也不能了…… 前几天,我在学校附近买了两只特别的小鸡。说它是鸡,却又不完全像鸡;说它是鸟,但又不完全像鸟。它们长得非常可爱,一身黄褐色的毛,一双眼睛圆溜溜的,小嘴尖尖的,像毛绒绒的两只乒乓球在地板上滚来滚去。小尖嘴叽叽喳喳,好像在唱着动听的歌。每天我做完作业就要逗它们玩。 “They're dead ...” I murmured. Tears silently gushed down along the cheeks. Yes, the chickens are dead, they can no longer see their cute figure, no longer hear their crisp cry, no longer tease them to play. Yes, I can not do it anymore ... A few days ago, I bought two special chicks near the school. Say it is a chicken, but not exactly like a chicken; say it is a bird, but not exactly like a bird. They look very cute, a tawny hairs, a pair of eyes round yo-yo, tiptoe, like fluffy two pingpong roll on the floor. Small beak twitter, as if singing a nice song. Every day I finish homework, I must tease them to play.