On that lantern, he did not burn the lantern The spindle that remained silent closed the mirror of the rust The cradle of the handwriting. Spring waited for the useless folded everybody and passed by No one was liked and trapped Shadan or Ghamineh Oh No one brought out of the head No chicken from the nest nor smoke from the pedestrian Najnat Najn Takes his flower on the programs of Zabbaghi Spring Spring.
