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