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