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