Calamity strikes under the calm of fog,
The man breathes in the misty water.
His thoughts dissipate with the touch of dusky light,
Her auburn hair flares behind the rose of cherry blossoms.
Their fingers caress at their tips,
A consciousness already bonded eternally.
Branches of cherry blossoms rest upon their cold heads,
Notions forbidden and a desire remains suppressed.
Their lips turned to poison,
It crept and tangled deep into their minds.
From this moment forward they were consumed,
Forever doomed to think the same.
The tree stands still - its eyes perturbed,
The green shrubs, the amber buds,
Surroundings bustling and lively,
It stands placid, as almost dead.
True nature it has not revealed,
The mute damned to sit still,
Words rush and glimmer in poetic verse,
No sound crosses its rough lips.
Century withered and silently crossed,
The tree stands still yet even now.
The aging man, his worn axe glistening in dawn,
Slashes down the tree, its roots bare.
Now knowledge sleeps in the soil, the soil remains untouched.