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