Who is the young boy riding a white horse, unaware of sorrow in the busy streets?
Autumn dusk, the remaining leaves of mountains and valleys, and still the lingering fondness for fallen blossoms in the depths of spring.
Plum blossoms delight only in the company of snow and shun the noise and worldly concerns.
Purple swallows whisper and disturb sweet dreams, while ducks and geese sing as they play in the water, drawing their necks into song.
Who is the young lad riding a white steed, unaware of sorrow in the bustling streets?
Crimson willows and vibrant green mountains – yet, inevitably, another year has passed and it is once again spring.
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