I20

The warm wind blows seeds through the air,
Wine brings joy.
The lyre calls you to come and drink,
beware the authorities my boy!

Enjoy wine, lovely maidens, poetry,
This is wise, because Time is a traitor.

Hide your cup under your woolen cloak,
Soon treasonous Time will murder you.

Cry false tears and beg forgiveness for your drunkeness,
when the hypocritical priests are around, make like
you're fasting.

There is no Joy in this spinning world
that does not have the dregs of Loss at the bottom of
its barrel.

But the One Sky still remains,
long after tyrants are dead,
and only their bones lie in the mud.

Hafiz your verses conquered Arak and Fars,
Now its time to march on Bagdhdad and Tabriz.

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