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