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