Developments

Late from cherry scenes,

Views, now across the land we

Move, home afar off.

~ Buson [Englished by Phillip Whidden]

We come to see the orange blossoms of

Our childhood, Florida in fragrance, bloom

Of petals, white as coif of novice love

Beneath the ceiling (white) of young nun’s room,

The blossoms we recalled in boyhood eyes,

The yellow of bud hearts, all this dark set

Against the glossy leaves with crown’s surprise

Of yellow in the white and green.  Regret

Is our reward.  The groves are gone.  The crowns

Are gone.  The petals and the leaves, the trees

Are gone.  And what supplants the petaled gowns

And groves?  Vast housing tracts can’t feed the bees.

  The golden diadems in bridal blooms

    Are gone, replaced by bourgeois living rooms.

© Phillip Whidden