The day dawns rosy; chill, but bright.
Breeze, though merry, does not bite.
In spite of storms a day away,
Birds sing, cautiously upbeat.
There's expectation in the air
Winter seems more laissez-faire.
This day's a refugee from May,
Banishing the snow and sleet.
Tomorrow's storms might rear their heads,
Bury us whilst we're abed
In cold and woe and suffering -
We can't think about that now
While apple blossoms yet to be
Slumber in the undressed trees,
And, dreaming of the coming spring,
Half-awakened, shake the boughs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem