The stream is microwaved,
Like patches of green misty ocean,
Solanum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,
looming, smoky,
Pieces of green in different shades,
like a mirage,
The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,
He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Welcome,
sometimes lift it up,
The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,
There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,
The mountains are rolling up and down,
crystal clear,
There is a bridge over the creek,
The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,
danced lightly,
attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,
The flowers follow the breeze,
Standing in the left and right rows of realistic robots wearing maid costumes,
As if singing the symphony of spring,
Naughty blowing little bubbles,
As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,
Can' t tell which is a flower and which i
into the stream,
The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,
The entrance of the saloon on the 1st floor.
Bend it now and then,
The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,
Underwater small fish swaying gracefully,
like a paradise on earth,
look around,
The grass that just sticks its head out,
The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,
Watching the outside world carefully,
The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and plants by the stream,
rter of an hour,