An Arab king was sick in his state of decrepitude so that all <br />hopes of life were cut off. A trooper entered the gate with the good <br />news that a certain fort had been conquered by the good luck of the <br />king, that the enemies had been captured and that the whole population <br />of the district had been reduced to obedience. The king heaved a <br />deep sigh and replied: 'This message is not for me but for my enemies, <br />namely the heirs of the kingdom.' <br /> <br /> I spent my precious life in hopes, alas! <br /> That every desire of my heart will be fulfilled. <br /> My wishes were realized, but to what profit? Since <br /> There is no hope that my past life will return. <br /> The hand of fate has struck the drum of departure. <br /> O my two eyes, bid farewell to the head. <br /> O palm, forearm, and arm of my hand, <br /> All take leave from each other. <br /> Death, the foe of my desires, has fallen on me <br /> For the last time, O friends. Pass near me. <br /> My life has elapsed in ignorance. <br /> I have done nothing, be on your guard.<br /><br />Saadi Shirazi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ch-01-manner-of-kings-story-09/
