I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love. - Omar Khayyám

Dawn filled the sky with roses. In the
crystal-clear air the last song of the nightingale
dies. The smell of the wine weakens. This is the moment
when fools dream of fame! How soft
is your hair, my beloved!

Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.

O friend, for the morrow let us not worry
This moment we have now, let us not hurry
When our time comes, we shall not tarry
With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry”
So lets not let those precious moment of life exhaust
because soon fade away. And be it gash or gold it will not come
Again in this identical disguise.