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