Blossom Haiku
Before green is white.
Blooming alone in a field,
You showed me a tree.
Carpet of petals,
roof of twinéd boughs,
why don't we make our home here?
None could match the view we'd have:
gazing up through flowers
at the clear blue sky.
But how quickly blossoms fade;
torn away by storms
they wither and die.
Where, then, would we go
to shelter ourselves
from the burning sun, my love?
You said to me then,
We'll stay, and let new leaves grow.
After white is green.