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