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