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