I was only seven, and the little Sakura kept calling to me;
It was bizarre, but felt so right, the wisdom so free.
I listened to its song of happiness and joy;
The many lessons I learnt and still enjoy.
 
Its budding blossoms were mere capes of pink;
Left me in deep solace, to daydream, to think.
We competed every day, to see who would grow in height;
And felt the grass beneath our feet and roots in delight.
 
I was only twenty-seven, and I recalled my Sakura tree;
Away in the city, with no happiness, no glee.
Oh, how we used to enjoy your petals that showered the gloomy skies,
And how I hugged your comforting trunk, as your bore my cries.
 
“Those who sow in tears, will reap with joy!”, you used to say;
Your lullaby of motherly love, made me want to stay.
Yet I could not, I had to leave, to fulfil the duties of society;
But your voice reminisced in my mind, weeping in entirety.
 
I am only eighty-seven, yet I still remember you;
The little Sakura, rose high and mighty above the clouds, you grew!
Your bark speaks volumes of your strength, your branches sing hymns so rare;
Your petals dress the baren ground, and your shade now a cape of eternal care.