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