like a mirage,

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

crystal clear,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

Pieces of green in different shades,

Like the melo

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

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

The grass that just sticks its head out,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

into the stream,

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

Like patches of green misty o,

looming, smoky,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

like a paradise oh,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

sometimes lift it up,

Watg the outside world carefully,

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

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

danced lightly,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

look around,

The flowers follow the breeze,

robots wearing maid es,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

Bend it now and then,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

The stream is microwaved,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.