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