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The White Blossom

To escape the Autumn rain we ran

under a blossom tree we found.

As the north wind came and blew its roots,

it grasped dark soil underground.

In the Winter months we warmed ourselves

as the virgin blossom went to sleep.

we laughed out loud, we held on tight

to air like memories we tried to keep.

Then Spring arrived renewing all,

breathing joy on the sleeping earth,

melting a sharp and bitter ice,

awakening life and the power of birth.

We watched the tender blossoms grow

at its perfect time of year.

then we watched them drop like falling snow

as they whispered in our ear:

They spoke to us of time and space,

of letting go in gentle grace, 

of coming and of going away,

of cherishing the everyday.

It was strange to me that the touch of pink

in their white so pure caused me to think

of a hint of dying mixed with birth,

of an innocent heart with a beat of blood. 

Heavenly petals covering the earthly mud.

For many days we shared its gifts

of forgiving love and snow-white peace, 

as we let it clean the wounded parts

of hidden pain in our wintry hearts.

In a silent love, a forgetting day

our cares and fears had gone astray.

So, I built a cottage beside the tree,

a running river flowing near to me.

As the snowdrop blossom grew and grew

its branches often blocked my view.

 

But I don't mind for I sit content

as the patient blossom sways and waits. 

Through the windows of my soul I watch

for its timely touch of eternal grace. 

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