I saved a pressed rose petal in the name of the Friend,
the faintest of fragrances that came from the Friend.

A tree died in my yard and I’m full of complaints
but if the roots failed to grow it’s no blame to the Friend.

A garden of prayer blooms under constant attention
and the sun gazes down with love the same as the Friend.

If your seedlings fail of their promise and wither for lack
of your care, do you dare to call shame on the Friend?

If you could wish for wealth and command over human hearts
then what would you choose between fame and the Friend?

If you can order the tide to your will and change the orbits
of galaxies, still you’ve no hope of taming the Friend.

But look how the flowers dance in surrender when the wind blows!
That’s how the dervishes learn to play the game of the Friend.

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