The black lines with their shabby numbers
Grew from the Japanese Cherry Blossom
Like it was the first day of spring and when I opened my eyes
There was only one blue bird to sing its lonely hymn and it
shook the sky like lightning and everybody's
heart burst into pieces at the sound and when it stopped
thousands or millions of curious onlookers
prayed for more music and more rain,
But it never came.

Like the first day of spring or like
The rain hit the ground like ping and
RING! went the fluffy footed cat from the chimney through the ceiling but finally
The string was too shallow like a sea but not deep so it
Snapped in half and killed the cat with no doubt and still
You can hear the fluffy footed feline from the terrace.

Or maybe not like the first day of spring and maybe it was just like
The first day of winter where the flock died and the crops withered and the
Crows gathered awaiting their meal to fall dead upon the cold wintry rug of snow.
Like the first day of winter where not a soul was there to return your call like a
friend that had abandoned you forever. Not like the first day of
Spring where you could whisper and a thousand souls chirping happy songs would rush to your feet.
Not like that.

The first day of winter. Lonely, forsaken and unfound wandering the cold wintry rug of snow
That never ceases to stop as it hits the ground in soft sparkles like a turret from Heaven shooting stars of
white puffed flakes to the heathens down below.
Let it snow.