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