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