To you, my companion of rhapsody;
Whisper in the white pines of winter.
I hear you, a bohemian spirit.
Rise to touch the sky, it’s your music.
I reflect and see you in a still pond,
White clouds parade seasons across the blue,
An epiphany, as time passes.
Long dry grasses of winter rustle,
I see your heart bristle off the dust.
In rivulets of melting snow, a thaw.
You murmur, the growing time is coming;
Yes, we can sing the robins song and rejoice.