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