I did not find her
in the spring.
That is to say,
she appeared quite
suddenly.
She adorned herself
with flowers of
yellow and white.
Pale ornaments
resting comfortably
in her lovely dark hair.
Occasionally,
a purple blossom
would make an appearance.
She was fond
of surprising me,
you see?
She was a small thing.
Never scrawny, no.
Delicate,
I would say.
Ah, look at me;
referring to her
in the past tense
as if
I have already lost her.
But seasons always change,
do they not?
I will love you
while I have you,
dear, little magnolia.
Yes,
I think I’ll do
just that.
