Oh month of bloom,
I wander through the greenery
To gather myself,
I see honey and fragrance
From half opened budlings,
I could not be any more sick!
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My beloved grey Winter mistress
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gone to the birds
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And their songs that wake
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Me from my depressed slumber!
A bird flies from tree to tree,
And no windshield is safe!
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I salute the thorns of every rose,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I wrestle with the inevitable
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Approach of Spring poems,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; An avalanche of sweet seasoned
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Words falling from villainous
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Repetition, seasonal song of the
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Lofty new flowers,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Oh my nemesis Spring!