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