My eyes stare at the brown branches
at those stubborn snow,
reluctantly the body takes in
those icy wind across the meadows,
there is a wish crying, shouting,
another banging its head
on the doors of spring,
while futile wishes ring bells
asking again and again
"Oh,  snow when will you melt
and sweet spring breeze,
when will you be blowing ?"

I wish and wish
that my impatient heart
could strike a note
on the strings of spring
to make it sing
all the tunes it is hiding.