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