I could not write but to tell you, in this correspondence
About the blossom which now surrounds our neighbourhood
I know that the April showers and disturbing winds cannot be far away
Which will leave the soft pink and white petals saddened and scattered
Down the pot-holed driveway, and also across the newly-mown lawn
Everything is impermanence I am reminded, as I feel the sleep and the pain
Enter and depart from my body; side by side, part by part
The secrets are not in there, they are not even everywhere
However deep you trawl the deeper waters they are steady
It is the only tale which remains to tell, or to hear told
