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