Merciful Are the Blossom
Conflagration
And seesaw whims
Those who can find
Hymns upon the mind
Them are saints
Them are of heart
Finishing, only at start.
Plentiful
Are the handsome.
And merciful
Are the blossom.
A bird sings upon my sill,
For it is the blossom
That sits upon them still.
The courage of man
It takes to begin,
For it is their conflagration
That can lead to sin.
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