1. O you through whom the dead lived in memory
And to whom my affairs shall return

2. I have a brother, whenever he calls me
He is extremely dutiful and kind to me

3. And I have nothing to offer except rhymes
That flow from my mind’s coins

4. Among greetings laden with meanings
That shone in the breasts of my poetry

5. So if you relieve me with some comfort
That would ease me of my secret torment

6. I have held back what I owe you
Of my exploited gratitude’s possession