The bud of spring quivers in the shoot

The last vestiges of cold blow away with the west wind

Come, bearing sweet promises of the summer sun

Holding songs on your lips about the swaying trees

Wafting fragrances of blooms on your person

The sun has finally tired of blazing in the skies

He waits for the purdah of the clouds to fall

Come, dancing with the first drops of rain

Telling tales of the taste of the nectars of heaven

Quivering about the might of golden thunder

The clouds have wrung themselves dry now

And the trees shiver to sleep

Come, wearing the crown of autumn leaves

Bearing the stars of the clear night skies in your eyes

Whispering with the winds that bear news of a blanket, white

Snow nestles in the crook of the mountains

Time itself slows down to the cold

Come, speaking of the magic in the air

Dancing with the songs of the ice

Promising golden yellow after the stark white.