Before the arrival of spring
You have the lunar festival
Which allows for cherry blossoms
To bloom in buckets...
They resemble a harvest of sorts
A harvest of good-will and hope
That the new year will be fragrant and rosy -
Like their petals resembling pink mice ears;
Light and airy and sweet
Like their scent of evanescent prunes
The little corollas are listening to the rain drops
Hitting the gray pavement
Of a city of stone and water, lights and plastic
In which their fugitive smell gets lost
Drowned in the noise of cymbals and footfalls.
Too wet to sing the song of cherries.