Now the season’s changed
Like another phase of the moon.
But why, I ask, am I deranged,
And feel so marooned?
Spring is gone, but is Summer here?
If she is, will she show herself.
Or leave me as nimble and confused as a deer
With my heart and hopes on a shelf.
(of this I truly fear)
But Summer will show her beautiful face,
Painting me the brightest of smiles.
Yet slow in the running is Summer’s pace
On these coarse and rocky miles!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good write. Fall and winter definetly aren't as drastic, when they change.