فَمَن شَبَّهَ العُمرَ كَأساً يَقِرُّ

قَذاهُ وَيَرسُبُ في أَسفَلِه

Whoever compares life to a chalice it pleases

To sip its froth and leave the dregs behind

فَإِنّي رَأَيتُ القَذا طائِفاً

عَلى صَفحَةِ الكَأسِ في أَوَّلِه

Yet I have seen the dregs continually

Dance on the surface from the start, in kind