I. I am Bingo. I am a little red dog. I like bones. They are good. 2. This is Tom and that is Nick. They are little. They like cars buses and bikes. 3. Sally and Liz are students.They are in Moscow. They like books cakes and sweets. 4. This is Ken. He is a pupil in London. He is not big. He is little. He is a good pupil. 5. Rose is happy. She is in Hollywood. She is fine. 6. My name is Robin. And my name is Rick. We are students, we are not pupils. 7.What is your name? Are you a pupil? Are you in Moscow? Are you a good pupil? 8.This is a rat. It is black and big. It is not good, it is bad.
Here and unbeknownst to us crept autumn evenings have become short and cool, rain monotonically rattled on the roof. Sad. But, despite this autumn is my favorite time of year, because since my childhood I write lyrics, and most of them are born in the autumn, autumn crimson, rainy autumn. Today, walking in the parks, inspiration struck me again and again I began to write, or rather, she continued. And how can you not love fall, I think she was loved by all the poets!Вот и незаметно к нам подкралась осень: вечера стали короткими и прохладными, дождь монотонно застучал по карнизу. Грустно. Но, не смотря на это - осень мое любимое время года, так как я с детства пишу стихи, и большинство их рождаются осенью, осенью багряной, осенью дождливой. Сегодня, прогуливаясь по парку, вдохновение снова посетило меня и я вновь начала писать, вернее, продолжила.А как не любить осень, по-моему, её любили всё поэты!
2. This is Tom and that is Nick. They are little. They like cars buses and bikes.
3. Sally and Liz are students.They are in Moscow. They like books cakes and sweets.
4. This is Ken. He is a pupil in London. He is not big. He is little. He is a good pupil.
5. Rose is happy. She is in Hollywood. She is fine.
6. My name is Robin. And my name is Rick. We are students, we are not pupils.
7.What is your name? Are you a pupil? Are you in Moscow? Are you a good pupil?
8.This is a rat. It is black and big. It is not good, it is bad.
And how can you not love fall, I think she was loved by all the poets!Вот и незаметно к нам подкралась осень: вечера стали короткими и прохладными, дождь монотонно застучал по карнизу. Грустно. Но, не смотря на это - осень мое любимое время года, так как я с детства пишу стихи, и большинство их рождаются осенью, осенью багряной, осенью дождливой. Сегодня, прогуливаясь по парку, вдохновение снова посетило меня и я вновь начала писать, вернее, продолжила.А как не любить осень, по-моему, её любили всё поэты!