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