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