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