يا أديباً في نظمِه لا يُجارى

وعلى طرقِ لغزه لا يُماشى

O poet whose verse cannot be matched

And whose riddles' paths cannot be tread

ماش من شئت في طرائق شتَّى

من علومٍ فإنه يتلاشى

Walk wherever you wish on diverse paths

Of knowledge, for it will fade away

واهْد ما شئت لي نباتاً ولغزا

قد هدَى خاطِري وإن قيلَ طاشا

Offer me whichever plant and riddle you wish

For it has guided my mind, even if called random

في نباتٍ قلنا جماداً فلما

صحفوا ماسَ كالقضيب انْتعاشا

In a plant we said inanimate, but when

They swapped the 'm' it sprang back to life

كانَ طعما فأحسنوا حين زادو

ه فأضحى ذاك الطعام قماشا

It was a taste, so they did well when they added

The 'h' and it became that food, cotton

ثمَّ أبدلت حين نقصت حرفاً

فوجدت القماش أصبحَ شاشا

Then I substituted when I omitted a letter

And found the cotton had become fleece

بأبي أنتَ أطربتك معاني

كَ فقالَ اقْتضاب نظمك ماشا

By my father you have delighted me with meaning

As he said your concise verse walked straight