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