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

The flowers follow the breeze,

Sonum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,

look around,

danced lightly,

robots wearing maid es,

There is a bridge over the creek,

The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,

The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,

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

into the stream,

sometimes lift it up,

The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,

The stream is microwaved,

As if singing the symphony of spring,

Bend it now and then,

like a mirage,

Pieces of green in different shades,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

The mountains are rolling up and down,

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

Uer small fish swaying gracefully,

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

Like patches of green misty o,

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

Like the melo

Watg the outside world carefully,

There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,

attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,

crystal clear,

like a paradise oh,

Naughty blowing little bubbles,

The grass that just sticks its head out,

The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

looming, smoky,