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