1. The Caliph's successor you see has
A successor to the sun, dispelling the darkness

2. Wilted in the yellow, coagulated
With fiery fangs, worn down

3. Showing from the wax a molded cavity
Were it not for the wick's pith, it would not stand straight

4. So its body is of solid gold
Melted by a spirit burning within

5. It plucks from its braid an excess
Your plucking with pincers, the pen's head

6. So its light from that is renewable
As if it were health after illness

7. He eats it and it is nourishment for him
From it a tongue though it has no mouth

8. It's as if it were a dancer among us
Whose feet never moved in the dance

9. Standing in yellow attire
From which it stirred for us a single fold