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