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