Spiraea Song

Spiraea’s blossom’s waning,
Fragile white, blanket lawn;
The neighbours haven’t stopped complaining
Since they died aged 84.
I too have lived as annual witness
To lanceolate billowed hope,
Each one just the petal’s business
To spiral over lower slopes.
Death cafés proliferate,
It started in the wi-fi;
They submerged a coastal town as bait
For a Goddess of the Magpie.
Spiraea’s blossom’s waning,
To thrive again next Spring;
If I survive the monsoon raining
I would dance with you, and sing.

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