روحي الفِداءُ لِخالٍ تَحتَ مُقلَتِهِ

مِن هُدبِها حينَ تُغفِي غيرَ مُنكَشِفِ

My soul is a ransom for a mole under his eye

When its hump shades without revealing

مِن شَمسِ جَبهَتِهِ إِذ خافَ تَحرِقُهُ

قَدِ اِستَظَلَّ قريب الجَفنِ بِالوطفِ

From the sun on his forehead, which he feared would burn him

So he took shade near the eyelid with charm