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