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