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