As Spring reseeds the Light and Life forgotten during Winter.
As Love’s refreshing glisten coats once more the barren Realm.
So do upon reflecting on our Souls we feel a splinter
when Beauty once forgotten suddenly does overwhelm.
It is a misconception that in springtime we feel saddened.
If there’s at all a season to feel joy, it’s surely Spring.
We simply in our shook-up states confuse the sad and glad and
define the weariness of Beauty as a melancholic sting.
And after all did which unknowing soul encumber Sorrow,
with definitions poor enough to make us all forget,
that which is sad today won’t be so anymore tomorrow,
that Sorrow is but Beauty masked in seasonal quartet.
And finally it’s Love, the mystic sound, a hidden String,
which most of all does chime in us in light-filled times of Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem