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