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