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