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