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