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