Contest | Color palette

Just the spring sun send a primal kiss to the field — and you hurry, croc, to turn a pretty head to the sky. On the young spring's first birth, to whom is your dewy smile, good? Oh nivga infant innocent Blagat did not look at it that way dear mother! And no black thought you do not hide under a radiant forehead, dear flower? That it can be frozen tomorrow lying dead when you're so hurt? I ask in vain. You take it easy and you put a joyful face to the rays, so generously today that it spills laughed the shining sun in the blue. Bloom carefree! So the heart when happiness shines and warms him, you will not know the troubles of the future, that poor cries have no place in it.