I climb up to the cherry tree
Fruitless now besides the seven seeds
And Sweeter than the last I saw
Its blossoms fiddle tunes to me
And from the ground I hear them fall
Three wielded tools by garden keepers blow
Above the stones with letters carved
A weeping mist from silence drawn
Holding knots of cherry seeds
I lay them down beneath the cherry tree
And from my grave it reaps again
But what now for the keepers then