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