عائشة تيمور

You’ll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

And you’ll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you’ll forgive me now;

You’ll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go;

Nay, nay, you must not weep.

و«توحيدة» تقول:

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ريحانها عند المزار زهور

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