بَديهَتُهُ مِثلُ تَفكيرِهِ

إِذا رُمتَهُ فَهُوَ مُستَجمِعُ

His spontaneity is like his thought

When you throw at him, he is collected

وَمِن كَفِّهِ لِلحَيا مَطلَبٌ

وَلِلسِرِّ مِن صَدرِهِ مَوضِعُ

From his palm life seeks

And his heart has a place for secrets