It drives me outside, outside
It should be spring ; what should be

In the bustling
Of the little crickets without any name ,
Traversing the pavement

In the smell
Of the Earth heated-up ,
Gushing from a half-open door of a vinyl house

In the pleasant odor
Of the manure ,
Spread on the field sparsely

At the wholeheartedly hoe
Of the crouching old coulple ,
Digging up the field

In the parade without a hitch
Of the vehicles ,
Paying a spring visit on a country road

In the innocence of country boys
Carrying frog eggs
In a barrel of yogurt

Spring should be
That drives me outside
Spring ; what should be