Again, the violet bows to the lily.
Again, the rose is tearing off her gown!
The green ones have come from the other world,
tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.
Again, near the top of the mountain
the anemone’s sweet features appear.
The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine,
“Peace be with you.” “And peace to you, lad!
Come walk with me in this meadow.”
Again, there are sufis everywhere!
The bud is shy, but the wind removes
her veil suddenly, “My friend!”
The Friend is here like water in the stream,
like a lotus on the water.
And the clove to the willow, “You are the one
I hope for.” The willow replies, “Consider
these chambers of mine yours. Welcome!”
The apple, “Orange, why the frown?”
“So that those who mean harm
will not see my beauty.”
The ringdove comes asking, “Where,
where is the Friend?”
With one note the nightingale
indicates the rose.
Again, the season of Spring has come
and a spring-source rises under everything,
a moon sliding from the shadows.