Homesick

I shall not move merrily
By the ridges of the Nile
For the journey is long and tiresome
But sooner or later,
I shall not be lonely.

The pen in my hand-
Hard with friction between
I shall write the songs of the land,
The land that i left
And shall rarely see again,
Sooner or later.

You colorless and fast flowing Nile!
Have you cursed me that
I shall never see my home?
That others go and return
While I dwell under a foreign sky.

Land,O my homeland,
I shall not write your songs
Under a foreign sky
No,I shall return home
Then sit peacefully and craft the odes.