Springtide, your fire of color–
With red blooms you paint the world;
Not only woodlands, but in land of psyche,
You keep on stamping imprimatur.
After winter's inertia you've appeared,
Having made the flowers bloom in tiers.
With a wind and sky that's free,
Hymns you sing to a great commixture.
Springtime, don't go; stay a few days,
You abate the summer flames.
May the lute play to a clatter of rain;
Till after that, delay your departure.
Sarkarverse article
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Would anybody mind if spring should choose to linger?
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