What is it about a springtime morn
that makes me feel I've just been born?
Is it the air smelling so sweet
that creates for me a new heartbeat?
Or the blossoming petals all anew
that creates new visions for me to view?
Maybe it's the tranquil blue skies
that's encouraged me to arise
and see the world differently
with uninformed opinions
an unadulterated sensitivity
that makes me feel brand new.
Maybe it's the springtime rain
that falls with purpose and poise
like a lullabye devoid of noise
that soothes my newness and my form.
Is that what makes me feel newborn?
If it is then let it rain each morn.
But as the grass and flowers grow
it is with sorrow that I know
that my feelings of rebirth
will join the ages of the earth.
The springtime is just a short respite
like the older form that I must fit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem