I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a cedar.
A cedar whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing burqa;
A cedar that looks at Allah all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A cedar that may in summer wear
A nest of thrushes in her hijab;
Upon whose niqab snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by clods like me,
But only Allah can make a tree.