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