On the fence a rooster stands
Crest and feathers, all in flames.
He is screaming with much ire,
As if the village were on fire.
If you look around on hilltops
Orchards burn to their treetops
Houses, white and spreading out
At sundown are red throughout.
At road turn
On the river
Red leaves quiver...
In the fireplace, wood burns s’ow
Throwing on walls their glow
In the flames' play of colour red
I can see the rooster's head.