"Spring my name..."

  As Night unfurls its murky veil and cast it upon the livings, our souls are dancing in a lake; the lake of lost chastity, dressed in the finest of silver, as the Moon has chosen. And the hills, the streams and blossoms, are dancning to the birds' delightful hymns that praise the advent of Spring. And here She comes with golden braids and sparks of glitter on Her rosy dress, bidding farewell to the winterish ebony. To the Nature around Her, birth She gives. Its soreness finally is eased! Beneath the moonlight for hours She douses, whilst the swans are throwing roses to Her angelic curls. Her grace-so ethereal, compelling-the abyss turns into calmness and when Her circle is complete, the torch gives then, to Summer. Before She sleeps the annual sleep, the last goodbye whispers, and so, leaves...