Blood Covered Cherry Blossoms

In the early morning of dawn,
The peaceful presence of the sun’s luminous light
Dims the sky an airy yawn.
Rusty red rays stream their way
Through the shadowing trees in the delighting bright sight,
Landing on the charming blossoms that swirl to the wind’s cheerful sway.
Great gusts of gale harmonise in curtained disarray,
An unseen spirit of wind ruffling and swelling the blush blossoms,
Carrying away the loose petals in a radiant current of shattered bouquets.
And as if a crimson bittersweet scent of blood wafted the air,
A puddle of flaring red flames gathered on the ground so solemn
To be ensnared in their despair to long for what was once theirs.
How I yearn for the spring that plays with their array,
To blow them far astray,
Where naught danger or scares befall them,
To a safe haven in their prayers, a world for them to not be condemned.
Dear little flushed blossoms may you rain without pain.