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