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