When in the spring the cherries bloom,
And peacocks flaunt their shiny plume,
I long to be in an enchanted wood,
Like the little blue bird on redwood,
Singing my melodies by the flume.
Where morning sun casts a golden hue,
Scattered on moss are pearls of dew,
On forks of branches butterflies swing,
Leaving glistening shades of tiny wings,
As fairies dance on the meadow rue.
Where fireflies glow with lanterns bright,
And flowers are sparkling balls of light,
A piece of lambent moon to eat,
On clouds that wrap around my feet,
To spill elixir of life on starry night.
Where on earth such wood be there?
Where tulips dance and pansies stare,
A place that casts a magical spell,
On one who goes there but to dwell,
And find an unending solace everywhere.
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