Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

look around,

like a mirage,

There is a bridge over the creek,

into the stream,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

Bend it now and then,

The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and pnts by the stream,

danced lightly,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Wele,

Like patches of green misty o,

The stream is microwaved,

Watg the outside world carefully,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

crystal clear,

't tell which is a flower and which is a butterfly

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

looming, smoky,

Like the melo

sometimes lift it up,

The flowers follow the breeze,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

like a paradise oh,

The cicadas on the trees and the frogs in the lotus pond,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

robots wearing maid es,

Pieces of green in different shades,