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