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