يا اِبنَ حَربٍ أَطَلتَ فَقري بِرَفوي
طَيلَساناً قَد كُنتُ عَنهُ غَنِيّا
O son of Harb, you have prolonged my poverty through my mending
a cloak I had no need of.
فَهوَ في الرَفوِ آلُ فِرعَونَ في العَر
ضِ عَلى النارِ غُدوَةً وَعَشِيّا
For in its mending it is like Pharaoh’s household being exposed
to the Fire, morning and evening.
زُرتُ فيهِ مَعاشِراً فَاِزدَرَوني
فَتَغَنَّيتُ إِذ رَأَوني زَرِيّا
Wearing it, I visited groups of people, and they scorned me.
So I sang when they saw me looking wretched:
جِئتُ في زِيِّ سائِلٍ كَي أَراكُم
وَعَلى البابِ قَد وَقَفتُ مَلِيّا
“I came in a beggar’s garb to see you,
and at the door I have stood a long while.”
Sol 6.1