A miser died, leaving a cache of gold;
And in a dream what should the son behold
But his dead father, shaped now like a mouse
That dashed distractedly about the house,
His mouse-eyes filled with tears. The sleeping son
Spoke in his dream:"Why, father, must you run
About our home like this?" The poor mouse said:
"Who guards my store of gold now I am dead?
Has any thief found out its hiding-place?"
The son asked next about his mouse-like face
And heard his father say: "Learn from my state;
Whoever worship gold, this is his fate-
To haunt the hidden cache for evermore,
An anxious mouse that darts across the floor";
ATTAR
A GRAVEDIGGER
A man who lived by digging graves survived
To ripe old age. A neighbour said: "You've thrived
For years, digging away in one routine-
Tell us the strangest thing you've ever seen."
He said:"All things considered, what's most strange
Is that for seventy years without a change
That dog, my Self, has seen me digging graves,
Yet neither dies, nor alters, nor behaves;"
ATTAR
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