Before the growth in the fields
of inevitable verses,
before the grass falls asleep
in expectance of a violin,
before the faning chestnut-tree
fondles me with its thoughts...
Before the violets paint themselves
with a haze of a bird indifference
before i hear an impuden laugh
of an acid rain,
before the burning of the butterflies
at the stake of the spring temple...
The crocus was alone
and saffron from impatience.