Raw sky, thin grass, a naked cherry bough
Foretell the blossom that I hope to see –
Another springtime of this dying tree
Whose untold fruits have dropped where I stand now.
Each year the zany twigs put forth a show
So delicately poised as to suggest
The art that imitates them: grace and zest
Hung on a screen in distant Tokyo.
And, like a wondering Impressionist,
A night-school painter, or a five year-old,
I want to paint a picture that might hold
This image: nature with a human twist.
Or maybe not … Perhaps the greater grace
Is just to share the cherry’s time and space.
By Jonathan Steffen
First published in The Spectator, 22 February 2020
