In winter the rain knocked on the roof

And said that white is her favorite color.

He then handed her – a festival in his heart

A bunch of fragrant wet daffodils

 

She laughed, my dear lad,

We shall speak again in spring.

Speak to me with flowers my love,

Speak to me with flowers.

 

Spring arrived, a springy request to be

Fields turned green in the expanse and in ploughed fields

He brought her wreaths of yellow chrysanthemums

But she already looked forward to a bright summer day.

 

Collect for me the flowers of the universe

We shall meet again when spring goes by.

Speak to me with flowers, my love,

Speak to me with flowers.

 

A blazing summer day and he is at home,

So dry are the fields and no wild flower survived.

Suddenly, she stood at the door facing him

She asked for a wreath, at least a single flower.

 

How shall he give and everything is dry,

But she returned and requested,

Speak to me with flowers, my love,

Speak to me with flowers.