وَخَفيفَةِ الحَرَكاتِ تَفتَرِعُ الرُبا

كَالبَرقِ يَلمَعُ في الغَمامِ الرائِحِ

With light rhythm she grazes the meadows

Like lightning flashing through the blowing clouds

مَنقوطَةٌ تَحكي صُدورَ صَحائِفٍ

إِبّانَ تَبدو مِن بُطونِ صَفائِحِ

Dotted lines that tell of pages' hearts

When they appear from the pages’ bellies

تَرضى مِنَ الدُنيا بِظِلِّ صُخَيرَةٍ

وَمِنَ المَعايِشِ بِاِشتِمامِ رَوائِحِ

She is content in this life with the shadow of a tree

And from livelihood with the scent of aromas