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