Where the roadside scene is most intense,
The first to bloom is the winter plum, so dense.
When spring arrives, her fragrance fades, her grace stands still.
All other flowers, in vain, with envy fill.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
On apricot boughs, spring's hues condense.
A radiant beauty, peerless in her charm,
Outshining the fair neighbor, without harm.
Red plums? They're not worth counting, calm.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
Warm sun on mountain cherries, red dew's commence.
Berries like rouged lips, after petals fall,
See this, the orioles urgently call.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
Forgetting the path back to Peach Blossom Spring's expanse.
By the cave mouth, the stream flows slow,
Scented breeze stirs, red blossoms in endless flow.
Where does it blow this sorrow? None can know.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
The crabapple's demeanor is most immense.
Green sleeves against light red, a tearful sheen,
Lamenting spring's departure, serene.
Dusk comes with a hint of rain, unseen.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
The Flower King reigns, his own defense.
Rich splendor overwhelms the floral throng,
Bees, butterflies play, swallows and orioles' song.
The Lord of Spring grants all, to him belong.
Where the roadside scene is most intense,
Peonies, once washed by rain, make recompense.
With wine, I circle fragrant clusters round,
The flowers understand, without a sound.
They urge spring to stay on this ground.
Do not let it leave so easily, unbound.