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