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