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