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