In her spring, I peer at her ground and I see,
petit, it's branches reaching the sky
and I know, her cold spell has vanished for me,
its green, how its branches boughed and sighed--
Little summer, how its heat brings to bear:
I swear, it flowers to spite her cold heat.
And pink! To rival her sunshine, it dared,
and noontide, its blossom shrivel so weak.
And how I have noticed, her leaves have gained brown,
I grab the seeds, I will spread them all over,
I'll hate you 'till april mem'ries are bound,
Like it gained its laurels, to shed them cold.
When april comes, I'll love you again.
Time she is my enemy-- but a friend.