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