“Again, the filet bows to the lily. Again, the rose is tearing off her gown… The bud is shy, but the wind removes her veil suddenly, ‘My friend!’… And the cove to the willow, ‘You are the one I hope for…” The ringdove comes asking, ‘Where, where is the Friend?”… Again, the season of Spring has come And a spring-source rises under everything, A moon sliding from the shadows. Many things must be left unsaid because it’s late, but whatever conversation we haven’t had tonight, we’ll have tomorrow.”
