Sakura - Alyssa Lyman

A soft, pink-clouded young tree,

With whispering branches that smelled of blush. 

The town stopped, the town all stared, 

Everyone in awe, protective, guarding her.

When you, Manish, came and introduced yourself,

No one batted an eye. 

You came more often, 

Staying longer each time, 

You took the time to learn the bends in her branches.

Pink petals kept falling into the depths of the green grass,

But still she stood tall, in the rain or shine.

You came to her, closer by day, 

Everyone praised you, “Oh, Manish”.

A week went by, and her summer pink faded, sprouting too lean.

Her petals have fallen and her branches have grown brittle,

An older woman who often sat on the bench next to her, cupped her 

flowers and said, “My poor baby, Sakura”. 

With the brisk Autumn gush of wind, she was there no longer. 

But the next spring, new pink flowers returned to the town.

And you were already there.

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Alyssa is a junior at the University at Albany who likes to write about societal issues such as harassment, racism, abuse, and the effects of technology because she believes raising awareness can help inspire and create a positive change