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