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