Groves in half-acre root thought and tragedy.
At the water’s edge firmament grows.
Nagasaki cherry blossoms flake in season.
Sap in the belly of bark, truth limbs know.
Quiet northern winds tunnel away leaves.
Remaining pigments marked crinkle and dry.
Toddler impressions in piles; memory cleaves.
Outstretched hands and capes; imagination flies.
Festive rite and guise dawn the budding branch.
Elders and youth find mischief under cherry moon.
Family roots lead to countryside ranch.
“Farewell” Goodbye. Requests to be seen soon.
Rehearsed salutations buried in morning brew.
“Where do cherry blossoms grow?” Who ever knew?
“Cherry Groves”
Written By Christopher J. Greggs
On 3/7/11 at 11:42am EST
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