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