The white blossom is staggered and shy
It hides within its own shell
And falls only when the wind screams over it
And the withers when the sun sets
The white blossom hides in the shadow
Its funny how something so beautiful can hide
Something so pure and full of light
So white and pure, never touched
By the hand of Adam son’s
Light cascades as it flourishes
Heaven calls it the sun’s child
Yet when it withers, it’s forgotten
As if enflamed by hell’s fire and shame
The white blossom is dead
And so are its dreams and memories
It’s beauty and satire
The white blossom is gone
−Dead.
