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