Emerging green under the snow,
the white revealed the grass;
and thus from Winter Spring will flow,
and this also shall pass.
The bright blue sky throws off his clothes,
the rains flee from the sun.
So Spring into bold Summer grows.
It’s how the circuit’s run.
The Summer in its time grows old,
but harvests are prepared.
Now Summer wanes into Fall’s cold:
Change anciently declared.
Again the mountain’s icy breath
fills up the valley low.
From dying Fall to Winter’s death
again returns the snow.

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