Talk about why everyone likes small dewdrops.

In the morning, I get up early. The red sun has just risen in the east, and I came to the field near the village alone. The paths in the field are covered with grass, and some of them have withered. Small crystal dew sticks to the edge of leaves, like a string of small pearls, white and bright with a faint blush. The larger dew, lying quietly in the leaves like a small cradle, sparkles and seems to be dreaming a sweet dream. What a beautiful little dew. I crouched down and stroked it gently. The little dew disappeared and touched my hand, wet and cold. The larger dew slipped from the grass, fell to the ground and got into the soil. The sun rose, and the little dew was called home by the sun. I think: autumn mornings are always like this. At night, Father Sun let the dewdrops come out to moisten the grass and the earth, and go home to rest during the day.

Little dewdrop is so hardworking and beautiful, who doesn't like him?