Hieroglyphs on spring water

Snow melts, giving rise to puddles,
with the reflection of heaven.
Boredom is alien to these puddles,
interest is inherent in them.

Like letters from a bride
they have love words in them.
You will read, and you are in love
goes around the head.

The breeze ripples the surface,
lines dance, out of place.
Only loyalty is thought of in this,
this, only, only glad.

And spring still starts,
blood plays, spirit burns.
Happiness, somewhere, wanders nearby,
the thought of it speaks.