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