As the warm midsummer arrived, Tammuz smiled upon the heavy crimson apple, engaging in lyrical reproath with its ripening fruit and leaves. In the vanished spring, this branch had held its blossoms like a cherished bouquet, making even the breeze blush at its radiant hue and sweet perfume. Now laden with agate-red fruit and emerald leaves, the bough bent beneath its regal burden, lifting its crown higher than the famed Kavian Banner and casting into shadow the pale petals of spring. Yet as the first whispers of autumn (Mehregan) stirred the air, the narrator lifted a goblet of wine to remember the fleeting spring, linking the splendor of the tree to the majestic crown of King Hormozd. For in this turning cosmos, every season of power and beauty has its hour, urging mortals to cherish the vibrant present before time erases all worldly traces.