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Spring came far too early this year: |
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May flowers blooming in February. |
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Should I be sad for the month, |
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or glad for the sky? |
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The birds don't know which way to sing |
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and, my friend, |
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neither do I. |
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Two days ago, a girl I truly thought I loved |
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suddenly didn't seem to matter at all. |
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Should I sing sad farewell |
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to things I'm really glad I've left behind? |
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The birds don't know which way to sing |
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and, my friend, |
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neither do I. |
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In another day, heavy snow will lie upon the ground |
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and buds prematurely bloomed shall fail; |
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and every creature living now, |
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then will surely die... |
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The birds don't know which way to sing |
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and, my friend, |
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neither do I. |
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The birds don't know if it's time yet to fly; |
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they don't know which way to go |
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and, my friend, |
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neither do I. |
