O Delicate Springtime Flower,
how quickly you’ve grown from the Great Tree, your Home;
within days I saw your subtle birth reach a wizened age
floating to the ground, as a lifeless feather from a cage
for you were not meant to fly long before any two eyes
but only to be scarcely noticed quiet even in your dying
except by poetry immortalizing your sudden sacred flight
you withered gladly riding within the Chariot’s divine light
deliverance to roots below, bound next year for your arrival