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