‘Tis spring again.
For the calendar tells me so.
I shall whisper it to the crocuses
So they will know.
I fear without my whisper
They will not show their face.
For they still think it is winter
in this cold gloomy place.
‘Tis spring again.
For that calendar day has begun.
I shall sing it to the daffodils,
each and every one.
I doubt without my trilling song
that they will abundantly bloom.
For they still think it is winter.
For the winds of March still loom.
‘Tis spring again
But the pretty flowers don’t know.
They have no calendar to see like me.
They just wait for winter to go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely written! Could you tell them to hurry it up too please!