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