The whole poem: a trip of two or three miles, four or five houses in the smoke village. The pavilions are six or seven, and the flowers bloom in eighty or ninety.
At first glance, two or three miles away, light fog enveloped four or five families. There are six or seven pavilions large and small, and eighty or ninety flowers are in full bloom.
Story background:
A child goes to grandma's house with his mother's skirt. I walked two or three miles in one breath and was about to pass a small village. Only four or five families cook lunch and all smoke. Tired of walking, the bitch saw six or seven pavilions on the roadside and went to have a rest. Outside the pavilion, flowers are in full bloom and children like them more and more. They held out their fingers and counted, chanting "Eight, nine ...".
He wants to break off a branch and put it on himself. Just as he was about to pick it, his mother stopped him and said, "If you fold one, he will fold one, and people behind him will not see these beautiful flowers." Later, there were more and more flowers here and it became a big garden.