English Rendering
Fences part the cooking glow,
Neighbors whisper—soft and low.
Crickets chant through hemp's thin shade,
Looms stand naked, silk betrayed.
Taxmen come with midnight feast,
Bragging how their lords increased:
"East carts drowned in autumn mire,
Yet the rods still sing with fire!"
"Save your skin, bend your spine,
New year's tax will taste like mine."
