اِبيَضَّ مِنّي الرَأسُ بَعدَ سَوادِهِ

وَدعا المَشيبُ شَبيبَتي لِنَفادِ

My head turned white after once being black,

Old age called on my youth until it faded.

وَاِستُحصِدَ القَومُ الَّذي أَنا مِنهُمُ

وَكَفى بِذاكَ عَلامَةً لِحَصادي

My people, whom I belong to, were harvested,

That was sign enough my harvest was ready.