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