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