A Song of April

The Flower’s Dye That Tints Everything

April’s blossoms scatter in a hurry,

and when the rain falls, the colour deepens—

their gentle dye seeping into everything.

With long necks lifted toward the sky,

white and graceful magnolias

have washed the alleyways in pale light.

Magnolias that sip the morning sun,

magnolias that swallow the evening moon—

how lovely it must be to live with a magnolia tree.

Over the shelter where people wait for the bus,

soft, deep-pink blossoms

fall upon umbrellas, staining them richly.

Perhaps blossom-pink was named for flowers like these.

Perhaps flower-rain means a rain like this—

petals soaked through, their colour spreading in the rain.

Those who pass by carry April with them;

their hearts tinged with the colour of flowers,

they cannot stride on quickly, but pause.

April—

the spring road scattered by clusters of blossoms

runs here and there with the rainwater.

Ah, I too would like to be dyed in April,

to stand upon the road,

close my eyes, and quietly smile.

*these are my own paintings*