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Of Dying Bird Cherry The Scent

Of dying bird cherry
the scent
was so familiar.
I never could forget
that sadness in your face,
that smile of broken dreams
that comes with hope that leaves
and covers pain with snow
so tacitly.

That trace of smile –
of dreams, of death, of snow,
of fields unending, plain,
of silence.
It comes to visit me.
I seek to visit it
and dying bird cherry
is my asylum.

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Comments (1)

This is a lovely wistful poem. Magnifique!