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