Classic Poem

Ah, spring comes from afar, smoky,
under puffy swollen willow buds,
eager to press its gentle lips close,
and suck in a virgin's kiss,
spring comes from afar riding a rubber -wheeled rickshaw.
In the absent-minded landscape,
the white rickshawman's legs hurry,
but going, going, the wheels turn backward,
gradually the shafts begin to lift away from the ground,
then too, the good passenger is oddly unsteady about his waist,
all of which looks much too precarious — so saying,
at the least expected moment the spring gives a snow-white yawn.