Spring had time of grass and trees,
Dirt with weeds ingrained and intertwined.
April showers bring May flowers,
But those tears brought no joy.
Those April showers filled dirt with water,
Stirring completely to a muddied texture,
It's almost summer, but May could bring snow,
May could bring snow.
Maybe it could, maybe it won't,
May could bring exactly what I need,
To cover this land once more with snow.
Maybe it could, maybe it will.
The floor is slippery, it's dirty and unclean,
Falling left and right, stumbling constantly.
Yet, I'd rather slip over ice; stumble over snow,
I need a new sheet where I can't see my steps.
May could bring new beginning, May could,
Maybe it will, maybe it won't.
Maybe I want it to, maybe I don't.
Maybe I shouldn't let go.
But those April showers filled dirt with water,
Stirred them together to a muddied texture.
It's almost summer, but May could bring snow,
May could bring snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem