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