IN THE SPRINGTIME

Still you should praise the spring,

although it’s a miserable season

for you. It revives the memories

that never die —

all the fields to be sown,

the endless sweating with painful limbs,

sleeping with clothes on at night,

rising before daybreak

to follow others to welcome a dry spring

with a hoe or a shoulder pole.

Here spring is another sight.

On the town green

toddlers wave their plump arms,

the white soles of their feet following

pigeons and geese on the grass.

But whenever you go out

you can’t stop sneezing,

your eyes itchy with tears,

your nose red and swollen.

Only through a window can you watch

the kids and their mothers at play.

In the kitchen the radio is loud.

The show host has been talking happily

with callers, so many of them phoning in

to praise such a gorgeous day.

True, your body rejects this spring,

but still you must learn to praise.

Praise everything burgeoning with life,

the worms that come out for sunlight,

the pollen that gives you hay fever,

the snails drunk with rainwater,

the houses that begin to take shape.