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