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