Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

danced lightly,

The stream is microwaved,

sometimes lift it up,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

Watg the outside world carefully,

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

The grass that just sticks its head out,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

like a mirage,

like a paradise oh,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

look around,

Pieces of green in different shades,

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

looming, smoky,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

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

The flowers follow the breeze,

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

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

into the stream,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

Like patches of green misty o,

Like the melo

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

robots wearing maid es,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

crystal clear,

Bend it now and then,