Spring is a flirt. Unexpectedly gleaming
Over the shoulder of some far blue hill.
We glimpse the blue eyes of her, smiling and beaming,
We hold out our hands to her, all of a thrill.
A bloom in her lips, for a moment she lingers
Pouf! And she's gone with a flick of her skirt.
And Winter once more, with his icy-cold fingers,
Seizes us, freezes us. Spring is a flirt.
Spring is a minx. On the far forest ranges
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem