When the evening breeze is in a good moon
and wishes to play music
it uses sprigs off my almond tree
for its mandolin.

The evergreen bush,
by the crumbling wall,
jangles its leaves and says:
‘What beautiful music my friend,
but why is it so sad?’

‘When you are cold and unseen like me
and when you are as ugly as
the winter bare almond tree,
you too would feel sad’
the cool breeze whispers.