Cherry Petals and Bronze
The temple bell resounds right through the white
Of cherry blossoms making them more pale,
Transparent almost. They become more slight.
The sound rings sacred, making them a veil
For death since April clothes herself in doom.
Their destiny is fainter yet. They know
No inkling of their future. No slight gloom
Informs them. They just suffer belling glow
In springtime air which just like them is damned.
The heat of August looms to bring on fruit
For autumn pickers. Days and days are crammed
For God will never pity, undershoot.
White winter crystals come in purity,
Finality, the only surety.
~ Phillip Whidden