حکایت شمارهٔ 47

I saw bouquets of fresh roses Tied upon a cupola of grass. I asked: ‘What is despicable grass To sit also in the line of the roses?’ The grass wept and said: ‘Hush! Companionship does not obliterate nobility. Although I have no beauty, colour and perfume, Am I not after all the grass of his garden? I am the slave of a bountiful lord, Cherished from old by his liberality. Whether I possess virtue or not I hope for grace from the Lord Although I possess no property No capital to offer as obedience. He knows the remedy for the slave To whom no support remains. It is customary that the owner gives a writ Of emancipation to an old slave. O God, who hast adorned the universe, Be bountiful to thy old slave.’ Sa’di, take the road to the Ka’bah of submission. O man of God, follow the way of God. Unlucky is he who turns his head Away from this door for he will find no other door.