Hot Spring BB 02(2/7)

There is a bridge over the creek,

; Naughty blowing little bubbles,

danced lightly,

sometimes lift it up,

The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,

Watching the outside world carefully,

Bend it now and then,

The flowers follow the breeze,

The cicadas on the trees and the frogs in  

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

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

into the stream,

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

The shimmering light of fireflies shuttled through the grass.

The grass that just sticks its head out,

As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,

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attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,