I loathe a dark gray sky,
I loathe a dreary day.
My soul imprisoned does oft sigh,
And longs to fly away.
I loathe the clouds so low,
Crying endlessly on me.
Dear southern wind begin to blow,
And make the gray ones flee.
9/29/13 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ah yes, I know the feeling, melancholy, yet much deeper even; I believe the old desert monks had a name for it: acedia. Look that one up. It sounds as if it is what you describe here. Superb short poem.