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