A poem praising the old farmer's "green hills are not old"

(1) We sat cross-legged on the heatable adobe sleeping platform, just like sitting in a boat, surrounded by green waves. When the wind blows, the treetops roll over the waves, and there are sparkling leaves. He believes that planting trees is the choice of fate, and the green hills behind the house are the destination of life. (3) Yes, we saved this loess and got this green tree; With this green tree, we have saved this land. He has turned his life into another way. He really lives with mountains and rivers and shines with the sun and the moon.