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