The stream is microwaved,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

sometimes lift it up,

Watg the outside world carefully,

look around,

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

looming, smoky,

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

crystal clear,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

like a paradise oh,

There is a bridge over the creek,

robots wearing maid es,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

Pieces of green in different shades,

Like patches of green misty o,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

Like the melo

like a mirage,

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

The flowers follow the breeze,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

Bend it now and then,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

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

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

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

danced lightly,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

into the stream,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,