May Day

    A delicate fabric¹ of bird song Floats in the air, The smell of wet wild earth Is everywhere.

    Red small leaves of the maple² Are clenched³ like a hand, Like girls at their first communion The pear trees stand.

    Oh I must pass nothing by Without loving it much, The raindrop try with my lips, The grass with my touch；For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May Shining after the rain？