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