In spring when maple buds are red, 
We turn the clock an hour ahead; 
Which means, each April that arrives, 
We lose an hour out of our lives.
Who cares? When autumn birds in flocks 
Fly southward, back we turn the clocks, 
And so regain a lovely thing 
That missing hour we lost in spring                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem