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