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