The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

Bend it now and then,

like a mirage,

danced lightly,

Watg the outside world carefully,

crystal clear,

Like the melo

The mountains are rolling up and down,

like a paradise oh,

robots wearing maid es,

sometimes lift it up,

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

into the stream,

There is a bridge over the creek,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

The flowers follow the breeze,

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

The stream is microwaved,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

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

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

looming, smoky,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

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

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

Like patches of green misty o,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

Pieces of green in different shades,

look around,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

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

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,