From blossoms came this tender retreat 

As we walked on mountains, through rivers of asylum,

Mere fractions of an hour from frenzied, furious, curious crowds. 

 

The white and pink of cherry peach profusion plays its part, 

Note-perfect, pagoda perfume, 

As we tumble through sudden storms and the cars of strangers, 

On a circuitous route back to

Mozart on toy instruments. 

 

These walls, these ancient cliffs adorned

With commercial trinket-madness and deepest peace

Are merest backdrop to the greater peace that blooms,

Across oceans and continents, and takes root

In hearts and hearts alike,

Alight with friendship’s fire

That fortifies, that frees. 

 

We will not have this April again,

And yet we’ve taken Spring within us.

It nourishes and feeds unbound by time’s fragility,

And blossoms, deathless, present, 

In this eternal present.