Over the tousled squares, like a gentle palm of the hand,
Rain caressing my city by showers.
The change of the leaves on the white oaks smells like mint,
Appear in the color of apple trees.
The loneliness of gray winters is no longer in the sky.
The branches jump with trills of feathers.
The sun wants to see and from above the clouds it blinds the eyes
Of the people, who smell like animals.
The half of spring before the eclipse is behind for the squares.
On that day, the city will turn green,
When behind the moon, the sun's face will be less,
Just to return as an eye of the Dragon.