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