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