Whim

Yearly, millions of Japanese
Dutifully, instinctively,
Converge on parks for hanami,
To reflect on the ephemeral
Nature of life by indulging
In fresh Plum wine.
Within a week,
The sakura indifferently die.

Kimagure bought the sakura
Patterned textile in the window
On a mere whime; wishing to save,
Just once, her lungs from the loaded
Mixture of cigarettes, Plum wine,
And scent of fallen sakura