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