look around,
The grass that just sticks its head out,
into the stream,
in the left and right rows of realistic robots wearing maid costumes,
There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,
The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,
There is a bridge over the creek,
The flowers follow the breeze,
like a mirage,
The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,
Naughty blowing little bubbles,
Watching the outside world carefully,
The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,
danced lightly,
looming, smoky,
attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,
The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,
crystal clear,
Bend it now and then,
The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.
The stream is microwaved,
Underwater small fish swaying gracefully,
As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,
He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Welcome,
The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,
The mountains are rolling up and down,
Pieces of green in different shades,
Like patches of green misty ocean,
Can' t tell which is a flower and which is a butterfly
like a paradise on earth,
sometimes lift it up,
As if singing the symphony of spring,
Solanum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,
The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,
The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and plants by the stream,