1. A greeting to the gazelle whose eyelids
Spawned anger that became murderous at dawn

2. Sorcery was not conjured from his glances
Nor were gems hidden away in his iris

3. How often have I plucked from his cheek’s orchard
A blossoming rose on the branch of his daintiness

4. Where the freshest drink comes from his cup
And I drink deep the clarity in his chalice

5. The playgrounds where I amused myself
Toying with the distractions of leisure in their plaza

6. Oh may God preserve the days now passed
For life belongs to he who owns his time