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