SPRING

Where is that little boy,

who are laughing eyes

broke a flower meadow

summery.

Where's the little girl,

which tasted of strawberries

in a wooded meadow.

Hidden in my soul,

throughout all the 

unnecessary memories.

Below is the scar of the wound,

which I do not know how to tie.

The time is to grow up in the land,

time is spring,

of happiness, of love and of the world.

Towards the summer, visit the fairies road,

on the wings of wet air

sometimes painful lie.

Time has burst into bloom willow,

time to grow grass on the villae.

Time is much different,

the scent of myrrh,

from different countries.

The smell of something

brought by the wind,

I stare at melting

channel river bed.

Spring Rocking,

it will become a must

seagulls' wings ride.