Come, the butler of the one who, when the flower blooms, the whole garden is full of nightingales, give it to me, so that when I ask for flowers, it blooms, so that the secret of blooming may not fail , give me the butler who I am, I still worship the same lover, I still live drunkenly with the drunkenness of my life, I spend the rest of my life at the brink of my feet,
come to the butler, the one from whom the blood of life flows, the soul in the veins of the universe , give me that the sun may shine. Give the hidden treasure of the ominous gem-thrower, give it to the butler from whom the spring soul drank and became drunk one night in Golestan, the magic became color and smelled and bloomed, come the butler, the one who created the soul, give me that the soul of the garment is clothed, where should it be torn when it is the soul of the soul and the soul of its garment
? The shadow
of the night, I stayed in your way to be my moon, to be the solitary light of this ancient lover, like the green of my night, you did not come to be the moonlight of this grass, you did not become the companion of the eunuch, you did not become the companion of the eunuch, you did not become the lover of a hundred arts of your passion to be on the will of my restless heart, what was your attention to the mirror bearers , as if you were fascinated by the beauty of yourself, my heart was broken in the sorrow of love , otherwise it would not come from you to break your heart , its union They gave the sweet lips to Khosravan and it is enough for you to be a mountain, the silence of the shadow, which is the cry of the nightingale, like a burning candle, to be speechless.
