The spring threatens its advance
Relentless, agressive, it takes no prisoners.
It does not give answers
About how it came about
Coming in its all its guises.
The spring comes whether we want it
We have no say
In the matter.
The smell is irressitible,
Unknoweable.
The spring threatens all our illusions,
Telling us what we want to hear.
It is a fickle lover,
Telling us too much and
Not enough.
It is invisible.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem