Spring it is! Bouncy and crisp.
Sunshine, cheerful and sparkling.
The almond blossoms, as pretty as pink,
Why mustn't Cinderella dance again!
Out of bed from one more winter,
Her bosom rises to the sinless breeze.
Pensive yet lavish like a dream,
A born Eden, she fancies one more ball.
The tales of oppression are no fable
Her rags are real and sorrow acute.
Beset with a curse, dyed in her own blood
Every spring, she wakens to live some more.
It is time! Tulips bejewel her emerald frock,
And the falls frame glass slippers on her feet.
A snug shikara is her golden carriage,
And the depths of the Lake, her loyal coachmen.
Ah! She dances like she has never danced before
For, who knows, how distant the next spring is!
Her summers are timid and autumns cold
Thus, she dances like she has never danced before.
Her moves in meadows, firm and tireless,
Cinderella waltzes like a Queen of resilience.
Her pace through Boulevard, smooth and sensuous,
Cinderella swans like a native enchantress.
Every spring, she readies for the ball
Every spring, she loses a glass slipper.
No Prince has come in search yet,
No vows of peace and passion held.
Thence, in her fields and on her streets,
Beside the tulips and by the Lake,
Like a Tsarina of a charmed kingdom,
This spring, why mustn't Cinderella dance again!