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