Trees

What is this spring if, laden with grief, I have a wish to see trees coming into leaf And their foliage nourishing, beginning afresh – And being as soft as the touch of Zaldania’s flesh; And their verdance gleaming in the sun, Where children can hide and seek and have fun. A wish to lie beneath the trees and watch the stars, At night when breeze sways humbly the grass; And the boughs of trees rustling in the cold, Like something almost being told. A wish to hear jovial birds chirping in trees during the day – To relish their melodies and their vernal songs and be gay; A wish to lo and behold with a smile, trees growing high, Come new season, they seem to say with a beseeching sigh; And wash away these shriveled leaves again, So we can blossom new lease of grain – And help recover the branches that were cut into wood, By these people who reside in the neighbourhood; A wish to sit and watch the trees dance, To fulfill my leisure whilst I enjoy their glance. And sing a jolly song as I watch them shake, Hence slumber in their shadow and tarry to wake; Just like they once died and then began anew, I also wish that if I die I come back too. O dreadful this spring if, laden with grief, I have a wish to see the trees coming into leaf.