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