أَمّا الرَغيفُ لَدى الخِوا

نِ فَمِن حَماماتِ الحَرَمْ

The loaf of bread with the monks

Is from the doves of the sanctuary

ما إِن يُمَسُّ وَلا يُجَس

سُ وَلا يُذاقُ وَلا يُشَمْ

It is not touched, sniffed or tasted

Yet appears fresh and stale

وَتَراهُ أَخضَرَ يابِساً

يابى النُفوس مِن الهَرَمْ

It makes souls shrivel and age