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