O child, inoculated against sorrow,
Emerging from the laughter of the valleys
And the whispers of the streams,
Lend me a lock of your silken hair
To swing the butterflies,
And tease the wheat stalks.
Give it to me...
So, I may send it soaring on the wind,
A spring cloud,
Its dazzling white colour
Rivalling the patches of snow resting peacefully
On the rocks of our (Qurnat as Sawda).
Your tenderness...
Encourages me to ask for more,
So won't you show me some compassion?!
**
