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