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