نِعمَ الفَتى اِبنُ الأَعمَشِ الغَثُّ الذَفِر

لَولا الحِلاقُ وَالجُنونُ وَالبَخَر

What a fine lad 'the son of Al-A'mash', unkempt and disheveled

If not for the barber and his madness and perfume

كَأَنَّما أَسنانُهُ إِذا كَشَر

حَبٌّ مِنَ القَرعِ مُؤَدَّرٌ نَخِر

When he grins his teeth are like

Dated seeds of gourd, decayed and hollow

يا حَبَّذا أُمُّكَ إِمراةُ البَشَر

وَجُزِيَت صالِحَةً عَنِ الكَمَر

Blessed was your mother, the most virtuous of womankind

May she be rewarded with goodness for the fruit she bore

مَن غالَ بَعدَ صَدعِها فَلا اِنجَبَر

He who errs after her guidance can never make amends