The stream is microwaved,

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

into the stream,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

crystal clear,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

The flowers follow the breeze,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

Pieces of green in different shades,

robots wearing maid es,

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

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

There is a bridge over the creek,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

looming, smoky,

Watg the outside world carefully,

like a mirage,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

sometimes lift it up,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

Bend it now and then,

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

like a paradise oh,

Like the melo

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

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

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

look around,

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

Like patches of green misty o,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

danced lightly,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,