There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

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

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

Bend it now and then,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

like a mirage,

Pieces of green in different shades,

Like patches of green misty o,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

look around,

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

The flowers follow the breeze,

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

As if singing the symphony of spring,

danced lightly,

The mountains are rolling up and down,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

crystal clear,

like a paradise oh,

robots wearing maid es,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

sometimes lift it up,

looming, smoky,

into the stream,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

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

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

Watg the outside world carefully,

Like the melo

The stream is microwaved,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

There is a bridge over the creek,