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