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

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

Like the melo

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

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

danced lightly,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

like a paradise oh,

The flowers follow the breeze,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

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

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

sometimes lift it up,

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

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

Like patches of green misty o,

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

crystal clear,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

looming, smoky,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

Watg the outside world carefully,

Bend it now and then,

like a mirage,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

The stream is microwaved,

into the stream,

Pieces of green in different shades,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

look around,

robots wearing maid es,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.