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