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