For lovers it is always spring,
their dreams like wispy vagrant clouds.
You'll find them on a flowered knoll
far from a city's noise and crowds.
A lanky youth and long-haired girl
repose upon a blanket spread
o'er buttercups and violets,
what's in their hearts yet to be said.
Too shy at first to even speak
they feast their eyes on Maia's fest.
Wild flowers swell like ocean waves;
ten thousand blooms surmount the crest.
As Sun descends and shadows stretch,
our lovers stir, discovering
they can express all that they feel
with words of love best said in Spring.
