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