The Seventh of Ramadan

What a joy it will be
When I make it to that place
And I stand before a tree
Such a lofty piece of grace

And I learn that it is mine
All its shade and all its fruit
Then I wonder what I did
That begot this thing with root

So I ponder and I think
Even as I take a taste
And the ecstasy I’m in
Puts all word and thought to waste

Then I’m told my tree sprang forth
From the lips of my Nabi
A SubhanAllah uttered
One he uttered meant for me

What a sadaqah, it’s as
His companions let on
That his generosity was
Even more in Ramadan

What a joy it will be
When I make it to that place
And I stand before that tree
What a joy it will be

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