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.