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