在平凡的学习、工作、生活中，大家总少不了接触作文吧，写作文是培养人们的观察力、联想力、想象力、思考力和记忆力的重要手段。相信很多朋友都对写作文感到非常苦恼吧，以下是小编收集整理的英语朋友的作文3篇，供大家参考借鉴，希望可以帮助到有需要的朋友。
英语朋友的作文 篇1
my good friend is my a primary school classmates，she name is Chenglin she got to shanghai with her parents a few years ago I’m her best friend。
she is a very kindhearted and beautiful，she also very well for me ，I very love she and miss she have black hair and write derma 。
she have the same hobby as me，she like playing ping-pong so do I，I ofter go to library with him and look the same book together。
Last Igive my best wishes for him I hope she are still happy......
英语朋友的作文 篇2
I'm Sally .I have a friend.He name is Bess. She is nine.She's very cute. She has two big oyes and a small nose, We are in the sane school.We are learning and playing togethar. She likes dolphin and purple. I like dolphin and purple,too.
We are good friend.
英语朋友的作文 篇3
I‘ve loved my mother’s desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as Mother sat doing letters. Standing by her chair， looking at the ink bottle， pens， and white paper， I decided that the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world.
Years later，during her final illness，Mother kept different things for my sister and brother. “But the desk”， she said， “is for Elizabeth”。
I never saw her angry， never saw her cry. I knew she loved me， she showed it in action. But as a young girl， I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter.
They never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional”。 But she lived “on the surface”
As years passed and I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that she did forgive me.
I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came.
My hope turned to disappointment，then little interest， finally， peace——it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn‘t be sure that the letter had even got to Mother. I only knew that I had written it， and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not.
Now the present of her desk told me， as she‘d never been able to， that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work， I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside——a photo of my father and a one-page letter， folded and refolded many times.
Give me an answer， my letter asks， in any way you choose， Mother， you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.
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