Blossoms on the riverbank.

I have been dreaming in the scent of Sakura blossoms

but I wake, and forget the fragrance,

swept over in a tidal wave of wind it washes past me,

abiding in a land I’ve yet to cross.

God, teach me that I may forget to rise,

for just one morning, to simply linger

in that place where bare branches hang,
clad heavy in candy-floss clouds of soft petals

stretching back to face the cool spring breeze across the river

as they wave delicate, pink silken flags

more gallantly than any of winter’s icy artillery

and gently begin to sing.

A song of hope as soft as dawn, 

rising slowly from the deep

on a tune who soars on outstretched wings, 

full of joy to keep

the notes as tender as the night,

or the touch of love’s embrace

whose stave like arms entwine your own,

encircling your waist.

And I have seen these trees with dreaming eyes!

But I wake to forget their song,

their words lay lost to a shambles of noise,

yet that fragrance beckons on…

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