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