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