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