Soft Spring Evening
as the moonlight flushes
the white plum-tree blossoms
down the night-black bark arms
like snowflakes softly landing
on the calloused ground
without a sound
a mirror image of a petaled sky
above
filled with
star blossoms and fragrance
deep and high
whirling around the moon
cold and distant
aloof
yet pouring out
its cold love like
a symphony of
softest flute
and bassoon
ah, the moon, the moon
casting shadows black and deep
as the blossoms go to sleep
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