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