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