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