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