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