With clear wine, a wise one washed his behind
Early morning in tavern, who had homage on his mind.
When the golden cup of sun, descended from the skies
Curve of the new moon, of the curved cup would remind.
Happy is the one whose prayers and needs stem from his pain
With tears of his eyes and blood of his veins, cleans his behind.
The head priest leading prayers should be the one
Whose shrinking gown, blood of the daughter of vine defined.
My heart bought upheavals for the locks of that flowing hair
I know not that in this trade, what profit it could ever find.
If the head priest asks for me and my kind
Tell him Hafiz, with wine, is baptizing his behind.

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