Why, in All This Heat Can I Not Find the Sun
I want to rest outside through the thicket of the day,
let the chilling air and nature so fair fill my bay.
I'll give it my best, forward to the wicket of the sun,
but to my despair the sun's sweet glare met the horizon.
Too long have I gone on with my head down at night,
blind to the sky wondering why I'm unable to write.
Finally now, void of love, somehow I've found a voice,
a chorus in my head, a symphony for the dead, to my requiem rejoice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem