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