O, Portland’s cherry trees in spring
inducing hibernation’s heart to sing
as your matronly branches bring
floral dresses Easter Sunday

Those lovelies opening stand out
not pink nor white, but soft about
little ladies touching eyes in doubt
shine like girlies under gray

I’d save you from the rains too long
bring to you a bird and song
announce you with church bell’s gong
protect you from the windy fray

Flowers fallen, I mourn your loss
but walk their carpet strewn across
to touch the trunk time dressed in moss
until your figure’s last decay.