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