The swallows are back, and I'm tuning my lyre,
For today 'tis my duty to sing
A melodious lay that is graciously gay
To welcome - officially - spring 
Ting-a-ling 
So let's have a song with a swing.
 Bing!
High cockalorum and fal-de-rah, whack!
Young Spring's in the offing!  The swallows are back!
To put sense in the song matters little so long
As the lift and the lilt of it ring.
And a mention be made of the wattle-hung glade
 Where the blithering birds are a-wing 
Ting-a-ling 
 And the clamorous honey-bees cling.
Z-z-z-ing!
Tho' I'm scarce in the humor, alas and alack!
Ho, merry-down-derry!  The swallows are back!
So - officially - Hi!  Oh, salubrious sky!
What a dear and delectable thing
To behold such a blue as old Arcady knew
When - er - Strephan or someone was king 
Ting-a-ling 
And life held nor arrow nor sling.
 Ping!
Ah, the fervor is forced; but I mustn't get slack,
Tho' the rhymes may run low, for the swallows are back!
But - privily - oh, my vitality's low,
And a sneer at the season I fling 
For I gasp and I wheeze in the weary unease
Of the plagues that the pollen days bring 
Ting-a-ling 
I'm insipid as second-hand string.
 Ring.
Ah, ring down the curtain!  I've gone to the pack!
But, a last word in closing: the swallows are back.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so the season can be invited this way! ting a ling!