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It wasn't the rain, it was the stars that cried with envy of the day
and stole the kisses from the night that fell like rain.
The moon was stunned to see the countryside copying her dress,
and the night left with the moon and stars in tow,
as the rosy flower of the morning arrived hand in hand with the sun
and caressed the field left soaked by the night.
The trees, dressed in white, looked at each other,
remembering their dreams of rolling starry paths,
and hand in hand with the wind, the field woke up.
The night went away and the silver flower of the morning opened,
also with white petals, tired of the wind's dream.
The morning came, bringing honey-scented perfumes for the tree.
It was born with the sun, which had been sleeping in the night
and guarded by stars that shone brightly in his dreams.
Now, without a hat, the sun is offering everything to the morning,
dressed in gala attire by the trees in white sailor uniforms.
They offer prayers and flowers to the morning,
moving the hand of the wind to paint the spring.
Meanwhile, the green grass plays quietly like a little girl,
promising a gift for the man who will come to pick it up for his house.
The silent elm accompanies the cherry, the plum, and the almond trees
who are already laughing and bringing flowers with them,
letting the bees buzz around them,
and their fallen petals adorn the ground with a sparkling white.
"Mother, have you seen how beautiful the field looks,dressed in white?" the child dances and runs,
spreading love with open arms,
throwing laughter into the tray of the wind,
and filling the path with stars with every turn,
the ones that the night lost in the morning.
The mother, filled with moonlight on her face,
embraces him, looking at her child,
seeing the chalice of life rising.

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