1. The cats have abandoned my home, finding no crumbs to feed on.
My dog no longer sees a trace of bone.

2. The pot of my fate is like a cold December.
Over it the spider has spun its web.

3. The fireplace has freed its flames for lack of fuel.
On the horizon shine foxes' eyes like stars.

4. Our napkins are like the shirts we wore
When simpler times spared us from worry.

5. My pots, though scoured by washing away their blackness,
Are as if they'd never been cleaned of soot before.

6. The ants have deserted us, though we season our food well;
That part of their livelihood has been kept from us by fate.

7. Not for me to be satisfied with only courtyard and walls,
Or to eat cheese except when forced to settle thus.

8. May God send days of want dripping abundance
Whose plenty cascades, gushing forth unrestrained.