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