Emperor of Spring

Shadowy scraps adorn your form;

Spring-born, how wilts thou.

 

The color-king, whom praises

The choir of beings sings;

Where’s your crown of scarlet,

And the leafy verdant cloak?

 

Bees pay no mind to you,

Neither do the flies;

Winds avoids your stalk

And rain passes by.

 

Emperor of Spring:

Time has woven, and now it tears,

Your petals into blood;

Your prideful swell towards the sky,

It entombs in mud.