n this hour of the morn, 

when over the green leaf of the land
the day rhymes sun with smile, my tenderness lifts up
over the light green of the branches, 

to partake of the laugh
of the early-rising birds.
And totally like me, these flower gardens 

are warm and tender!
I don’t know why my love springs out of me like a brook,
when I touch every tiny blade of grass with my lively eyes.
If it wasn’t I, would someone else
be able to see these melodious moments, this tiny similarity,
between the little eye of the spring bird,
and the Earth, ready to give birth.