At my flower garden, in prewinter season,[1]
Only the spring tidings came;
Oh they came, they came, they came.
On humming of the bumblebee,
Nectar did get stowed away.
Frost-drenched plants aplenty,
They rose up swaying in fresh leaf.
The psychic peacock, fantail spreading,
With a dance it was engaged.
On withered bough a bud appeared,
Yellowish branch became green.
On lethargy was vernal breeze;
New music-mode, out it rang.
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When we heed His call, the bliss is perennial.
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