Swift swallows and spring days were shuttling by;
Of ninety radiant ones three score had fled.
Young grass spread all its green to heaven's rim;
Some blossoms marked pear branches with white dots.
Now came the Feast of Light in the third month With graveyard rites and junkets on the green.
As merry pilgrims flocked from near and far,
The sisters and their brother went for a stroll.
