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