Still Fresh

My poetry is like corn-bread; 
You can not eat it, if it is a night old. 
Eat it when it is still fresh- 
Before the dust of time settles on it! 
The warm land of the mind is its abode, 
 In this world, it dies of cold. 
Like fish, it can live on land but for a moment; 
The next, you will see it devoid of life's warmth. 

Divan 981:1-4 Reading Mystical Lyric: The Case of Jelaluddin Rumi