通用英文版(续写)

There are our hands tightly clasped together,

And our hearts beating as one.

The rhythm of the fitness exercises on the playground still echoes in our ears; the newly sown seeds in the fields are quietly breaking through the soil; the potted plant on the classroom windowsill has sprouted new tender green shoots again. What the teachers write on the blackboard is not just knowledge, but the strokes of the two characters "tomorrow"; what the classmates exchange is not just supplies, but the silent message in their eyes: "Don't be afraid, we're here."

There is always a leaf picked up from the playground in the backpack——it carries the smell of the school. No matter how long one cowers in the ruins, touching it can bring back the warmth of the morning light filtering through the window lattices of the teaching building. Every time we return to the school gate, seeing the guarding teacher nod with a smile and hearing the welcoming classmates call out our names, we know that all the trekking has found its destination.

We once sat in a circle in the auditorium late at night, listening to the teacher talk about a young world: busy streets with streams of cars, nights lit up with brilliant lights, where people don't have to clutch the compressed biscuits in their pockets, and children can run freely in the park, chasing the wind. At that time, some cried, some clenched their fists, but more had light in their eyes——it turned out that what we were guarding was not just a campus, but a faith in such a world.

So, when danger howls outside the walls, we will grip the polished tools tightly; when someone shivers in the cold night, we will pass over the saved cotton-padded clothes; when the seeds wither in the dry season, we will take turns to water them with the water we have saved. Because we understand that the strongest part of this fortress is not the walls, but each one of us who refuses to give up.

The future may still be hidden in the fog, but as long as the sound of the playground can still be heard in the early morning, as long as there are people reading aloud in low voices in the classroom, as long as someone plants the last vegetable seedling into the soil at dusk, hope will never die. Here, there are our scars, but more importantly, our growth; there have been sighs of despair, but even more, countless moments of courage to stand up again.

This school in the doomsday is an ark we built with faith. And we are the sails on this ark, waiting together for the fog to lift, for the "once" to turn back into "everyday", and for the day when we can smile and say to those who come after us: "Look, we have kept the light."

不是我写的不好请原谅