The stream is microwaved,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

The flowers follow the breeze,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

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

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

Like patches of green misty o,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

into the stream,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

Pieces of green in different shades,

like a paradise oh,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

robots wearing maid es,

crystal clear,

Like the melo

Bend it now and then,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

look around,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

looming, smoky,

like a mirage,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

danced lightly,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

sometimes lift it up,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

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

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

Watg the outside world carefully,

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

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

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