I threw a flower in the lake and saw,

across the silver surface of the pond,

as spring the winter's ice began to thaw,

the sunset sending shadows thin and long

across the surface (platterlike and cold),

like great carved gashes in a willow's bark.

This time is warm and beautiful, I'm told:

the sky so blue, the sweetly singing larks!

Since flowers on the cherry tree first bloomed,

since dawn of time they fall off one by one.

With spring comes death and life, we can assume;

with comings, leavings; someday all are gone.

A pregnant silence proves my inkling true:

You tremble softly now just as I do.