Until peonies bloom
I shall still wait for my spring to come.
On the day that peonies drop their petals one by one,
I merely languish in sorrow at the loss of spring.
Then one day in May, one sultry day
when the fallen petals have all withered away
and there is no trace of peonies in all the world
my buoyant expectation crumbles in irrepressible sorrow.
Once the peonies have finished blooming, my year is done;
for three hundred and sixty gloomy days I sadly lament.
Until peonies bloom
I shall still wait for the spring of glorious sorrow to come.