The mountains are rolling up and down,

Pieces of green in different shades,

Bend it now and then,

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

Watg the outside world carefully,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

The flowers follow the breeze,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

There is a bridge over the creek,

look around,

The stream is microwaved,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

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

looming, smoky,

Like patches of green misty o,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

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

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

robots wearing maid es,

into the stream,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

like a mirage,

sometimes lift it up,

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

crystal clear,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

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

danced lightly,

like a paradise oh,

Like the melo