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