The scent of blooming apple-trees
Fills all the air and sweetly soothes.
Thy world is locked with magic keys
Forevermore. We broke our oaths.
Eternal love of ours is dead,
And never will our souls be one!
For what thou needed to behead
This maid, this fair god-looking nun?
Cronus his power will contend,
Our lives will pass like dreams, like breeze.
What will remain in the end?
The scent of blooming apple-trees.
January, 2015