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