كَتَبتُ وَقَد خَصِرَت راحَتي

فَهَل مِن حَريقٍ لِكاسِ الرَحيقِ

I wrote when my wrist was worn

Is there a burning for the cup of wine?

وَقَد أَعوَزَت نارُها جُملَةً

فَلَولاكَ شَبَّهتُها بِالصَديقِ

And its fire has lacked the whole

If it weren't for you, I would have compared it to a friend