That same full moon of Phalgun has returned, my Darling;
At psyche's forest please arrive, love do bring.
From each blossom on a bough of trees medlar,
Allow the pouring out of fragrance sweet and friendly.
Upon every tree a fresh greenery has arisen;
New buds have appeared with the springtime winds.
Blooms have gone on filling the mind's garden;
Your song's wicker tray, by that may You be pleased.
In cadence, beat, and music mode sing calls of peacock and cuckoo;
The psychic sweetness in their tune, it makes one swoon.
Hymns go afloat by stretching the strings of a lute
Oh You, please pull that nigh, unto Your proximity.
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Everything in Your garden is Your expression. We all feel Your attraction.
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