In the old days
I had many things.
And magpies danced
wherever they pleased.
Then life became
a shrine for a great rage.
Not a single soul came to weep.
But, between the buildings.
and squabbling days.
There was a light
that never went out
And hearts colder than mine.
I realized that when
my life is over,
only green flies will mourn.
So, it is best for me to bloom
as often as I can, and then die.