The robin sings its golden hymn,
the turtledove its coo.
While 'neath the spring of wet and damp
does life return anew.

The grass turns green, the snow to rain.
The trees bow to the sun.
As leaves sprout from their mighty boughs
where dewdrops drip and run.

Oh, how the old forgotten rot,
the sting of winter's wrath,
all melts away and heals in heat
as deer soon shed their racks.

A world rebirth so fondly sought
lest snows return again.
We seek the flower of new spring,
sweet solace such to send.