1. Tender of root, their glances are its nobility,
With no waste or branches to them at all.

2. Or did they not influence when they possessed our hearts?
So they softened them while their own remained harsh.

3. O how their hidden swarms sting with bites
Whose pain makes rugged rock shriek out.

4. Why is their manner when they gain power unjust?
And their souls when they take captive are wrathful.

5. The arrows scorch their impact, but
It is the glances that accurately strike their target.

6. He was not turned from his youth by advice’s admonishment,
Rather it was his grey hairs, the preachers, that deterred him.

7. For my father Ali aspirations are lofty,
Raising him, and thoughts ever vigilant,

8. And manners whose essence is the water of modesty,
And habits familiar and protective,

9. And virtues that rise to their nobility,
While the eye of the envious and his heart are enraged.

10. So he is the springtime whose cherished path
Their clamor, if gathered, would be discordant.

11. Excuse your envious one if his heart
Lies awake, possessed by brooding, consumed by rage.