While vernal clusters usher in a spring,
Why do I hear my friend, a youthful flower,
Utter a heavy-hearted, cruel adieu?
While soulfully the cuckoo bird does sing
Of rebirth, hope, and joy, and festive shower,
And winter's nights have faded from the view.
Before the season's foremost dawn shone forth,
In grief wailed the nightingale of wild,
Before the petals impetuous bloomed,
A flower bid farewell to his home and hearth,
His youthful floral life was but spent;
A day too short? Was it an hour too long?
The ancient garden of worldly life sent
A missive through another vernal song.
On a day so brightly smiles the sun,
Whispers soft the flower of my soul:
It's time; away from friends you must now sail,
The distant friend, the Final Friend, He calls!