There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

into the stream,

sometimes lift it up,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

like a paradise oh,

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

danced lightly,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

Watg the outside world carefully,

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

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

robots wearing maid es,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

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

The flowers follow the breeze,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

Like patches of green misty o,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

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

like a mirage,

The stream is microwaved,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

Pieces of green in different shades,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

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

Like the melo

look around,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

Bend it now and then,

looming, smoky,

crystal clear,