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