Sakura

You are silently waiting, you are growing old, you are dying.

And we wail and we wail, trough the songs of this everlasting drought.

The spectre's charcoal received when born has tainted the spirit.

When do we part and long for ourselves? To brazenly breathe and gawk.

Completely feel that in your hands lies the soil, so in the glistening sun,
you wish to inhale.