From Songs of the Dead City by Buland al-Ḥaydarī. A quick translation:
Spring is gone
Its dust, gone... but tomorrow it will return
wearing a monk's new frock
to say, "Beware, I am Winter
Are you not afraid?
Are you not by trembling swayed?
It passes by me, and I pass by, dreaming of roses,
of my house bathed in candlelight
as shadows roam the wall in tranquil silence.
Its dust said, "I am Winter..."
And was it not like Spring?