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