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