i think spring has finally arrived here
a willow brush paints a watercolor half-arc
of the rising sun.   daffodils are blooming
along the riverbank, where boat-like magnolia petals
soon will float along the rippling current

i used to carry a book of poetry
and pick a sprig of flowers in the willow shade
where i listened to the sound of rushing water.
now poetry is dead, flowers are lost,
and i can never find
those hours that have flown away.

how many times those days of simplicity
enter my dreams with a sad slice of setting sun
and the old farmer whose barn now is long torn down
i used to love to hear the stories of his life
but could not take away the melancholy of his evening years

now there is an endless sadness in the wind
where the river flows along the borders of the highway
i wish the water's harmonious low song
could come back unspoiled to my side
with all its sweet harbingers of summer