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