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