Sakura

Snow still sits atop the highest peaks
Like vanilla icing, dripping
From rocky road ice cream cones,
Shining, sleek with sweat
From its battle with the Sun.

Down by the lake,
playfully shimmering water
shines a halo around the pink tutu
Of Cherry Blossom ballerinas,
Dancing aloft with a woodwind breeze.

Waiting on branches backstage,
The rest of the blossom ballet prepares
For their final descendent debut
When they flaunt their failing beauty
To a world of life only just beginning to stir.

The final act of a play called winter
Ends in beautiful death
Amidst the bustle of new life.
Sakura: the doomed herald of spring.


 

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