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