Spring again?

An old leaf from an old book,
did the scattered letters bring about a pleasant look?

Expressions deprived, I read not once.
For the one who withdrew, it was a difficult dance.

Loved were my haikus, I suppose they were,
for not a reason more but a soul laid bare.

What, if I fall for a need to write again?
For not a reason more but the old book's old leaf's gain.

A new spring of life for an old shoot of green.
The old book has a new leaf, fruits a wait keen.