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