1. Those orchards were stripped bare, their trees withered, it's impossible to make them bloom again.
Winter took away their fragrance and freshness, and bid farewell to their birds after autumn.

2. In every gentle breeze, there is a sigh of lament from them, and an echo of chirping cast away by their flocks.
The birds have migrated from our homes, leaving those abodes desolate and deserted.

3. How beautiful and gentle was their warbling when they sang across from their nests.
Oh how I wish I had wings like them to roam every land frequented by their like.

4. Then I would fly in the horizons among their flocks, yearning for their love and fruit.
And the fluttering of wings makes me yearn until I settle where the birds have settled.

5. My country is too confining for my hopes and wishes, so my soul is not fulfilled by just roaming it.
It aspires to distant travels, having long delighted in seeking lofty heights.

6. Shall I roam in these plains hoping, while their expanses are vast to me like oceans?
I am dormant in an obscure spot, where its free and best roam.

7. Its rocks on its hills and plateaus are bare guards frowning at me.
How miserable I am with a spacious heart, in the breast of a constricted space tightening its belt.

8. Winter has returned with its clouds and winds, and my soul returned in turbulence towards it.
My heart, in which hope has withered like a meadow whose flowers faded from the intense cold.

9. And the blue dome blocked it with the clouds' darkness, its veil cannot be lifted.
It moves slowly as the winds drive it, like souls driven by fate.

10. Those clouds cast their shadows in my eyes, and pour their billows and orbits upon my heart.
Bearing lightning bolts from their collisions, they swoop down while the blazing lightning is their fire.

11. And the atmosphere responds to their thunder, while the earth is flooded and its landmarks are obscured.
So how can eyes find rest in the midst of a harsh nature that strips it of its freshness and vegetation?

12. Its executioner, winter, wrapped it in shrouds of hail, its tears are its rains.
Return, O spring, to the meadows, bringing joy, after you the pleasures have become few.

13. I cry for you, and there is no consolation for this grief, how many days did I spend with fond memories of you.
And I yearn for your dawns which bestowed their morning breeze upon me.

14. So rise with them smiling and gladdened, for the earth was dark like the night until your light.
And bring back your birds, flowers, and dew, for news of them make me yearn from afar.

15. No trace of them remains on the soil, yet ample are their traces within my soul.
So when will you return with happiness and love, your warbling is sweet music to my ears.

16. Without you, the body is cold and tense, while the soul is a fire whose sparks fly.