Time comes and time goes,
Every way has a little while;
Like a breeze in the airflows,
That will gust on and beguile.
Something comes in the air,
When summer comes around;
Blooming ways small and dear,
In beds earth are then found.
Spring makes it's tide's vow,
In the green and growing hills;
Every leaf and every bough,
Promises of blossoms idylls.
Colors linger the grass grows,
With a new and warmer smile;
Who'll know what after glows?
When the time's walked its mile.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem