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