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