Is our life so different from a blossom?
We wait in the winter of our lives for a moment,
A brief stretch of time,
That we like the blossom may bloom.
And when we do, it is beautiful,
Bright and enchanting,
Dancing in the summer breeze.
But like the blossom, life is fleeting,
And someday we will wither and be carried off,
Like blossoms in the wind.
So I ask,
Is our life so different from a blossom?
Or do we both play a fleeting part,
In the exquisite drama of life.
