Sunday, February 23, 2014

the cherry blossom


The cherry blossom
The flowers smell in the air
Only for a time on a season
Then it will fade and wither

On the ground in the park
People will walk over it
Some will ignore and forget
There is nothing much to remember

On the ground breathing its last breath
The leaves soft and tender and crunchy and dry
The breezes will take the leaves away thrashing them
The flowers will be broken to pieces crying in the wind

What will remain of the cherry tree?
The season has gone another time perhaps
Of a political life burying in the votes
Of a party people dislike it many times over



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