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