Not yet, I'll not speak
   my words are still in hibernation
    they haven't ripened
    meantime,  I'll keep-

    the rose doesn't rush
    to bloom before its time
    the song to be sung
    must wait for the right rhyme-

   to you last summer
  my poem in praise
  I sent-- but you didn't reply
  though my tears had welled for many long days-

  autumn and winter will revisit once again
  perhaps my poem might then appeal to your heart
  my words then will find their fullest flowering
  every single one in love and devotion will impart