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