Servant of the Soil

I am happy and in loudest voice I say: 
I seek West Wind of truth from wine cup today. 

While frowning hypocrite sits languishing there,
with open-faced dreg-drinkers I choose to stay.

If Elder doesn't open my tavern door, 
where can I go, for whose counsel will I pray?
 
Do not reproach my rend's spirit in this world;
as I was molded, of that shape is my clay.
 
See not dervish prayer house nor tavern as path;
God walks as companion wherever I stray.
 
Dust of rendi is the elixir of joy; 
I serve the soil of that ambergris-sweet way.
 
In the joy of seeing the primrose so high,
by river with cup I stand in tulip's sway.
 
My story is madness since beloved's curls 
tossed me like a ball for her polo club's play.
 
Bring wine and to Hafez do pray: If heart
holds hypocrites' leftover crumbs, please sweep away.