Lilies of the Valley line a possibility path
They're pushing and poking their way through
Each crack of pavement endues the math
Of lumpish lubberly feet, leaving too few
How I wholeheartedly wish them all well
And pray the clownish tip-toe around
For bright lil' bells by their own can't tell
Who might impose their sacrosanct ground
So step lightly dear wandering and happy neighbor
For Spring be for Lillies of the Valley, hard labor

I used to drench with colors like the joyful spring.
As if it lent the essence of most awaited love from two vague souls.
They don't believe in true love at the end;
Though the innocent part of nature endues those colors forever.
I opened my burning eyes,
balmy smell of mango burgeons touched my soul.
I can remember how I met summer.
When tepid aroma wafted in my lungs.
And greeted my rusty pen.
Then I met autumn.
I learned to forget.
I often heared the rustling of my reminiscences.
I became a deciduous tree, shed those memories like dry leaves.
One day whiteness spread across my rainbow surface.
I got stagnant and rigid.
I grew frosty inside,
enslaved by the heaviness like the clever fog condenses the earth.
And I acquainted with winter.
I wonder was it a secluded heart, that possessed these divine four layers?
Or, a decieved one, where deep anguish made a void once?