The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and plants by the stream,
crystal clear,
The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.
As if singing the symphony of spring,
There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,
look around,
He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Welcome,
like a mirage,
Solanum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,
The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,
The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,
sometimes lift it up,
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
The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,
into the stream,
The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,
Like patches of green misty ocean,
The mountains are rolling up and down,
The flowers follow the breeze,
The grass that just sticks its head out,
The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,
looming, smoky,
The stream is microwaved,
Naughty blowing little bubbles,
danced lightly,
There is a bridge over the creek,
Watching the outside world carefully,
attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,
The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,
Pieces of green in different shades,
Underwater small fish swaying gracefully,
like a paradise on earth,
As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,