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