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