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