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