Reknit

The cherry blossoms weep
in the blazing afternoon.
 
Their shadows dance and play
in the cool autumn breeze.
 
For the tree on the hill,
the flowers are family;
 
every one that falls
brings a tear down with it.
 
The roots of the cherry tree
stretch deep into the hillside.
 
The tangle of branches bears
the bare bounty of the spring,
 
now red and worn-out,
ready to become fertile soil.
 
Some petals fall onto the grass
and the wind scatters them.
 
Some fall sure into the dirt,
where soon another life begins.
 
Sometimes the air carries one
to the lap of the one I love.
 
It brings with it the sun
like Noah’s blessed dove.
 
I see it remain undisturbed
as she naps quiet in the rain.
 
Will grow from this no man may tell,
of all the pink, it’s just a grain.
 
I know we knit our lives for good;
so have the flowers and their wood.