you will be far away,
the oh-so transient silky petals
will turn rusty and crumble
in my hands like broken promises.
We wander in the fragrant woods,
pass a breathtaking sea of bluebells
as if a reflection of the spring sky.
But after the pink blossom falls
I'll stroll here on parched summer days
tortured and haunted by your memory,
recalling us only at our best
for no text or phone call can replace
the feelings I experience right now
before blossom drifts down like snow.