Que Sera. Sera
Beneath the trees like drifts of snow,
the dropping cherry blossoms fall.
It makes me sad to them go.
Like fleeting dreams beyond recall.
Their images I have safely stored
imprinted in my memory
I conjure up from my record
and once again I clearly see.
The spring clothed trees all pink and white
before the fruit begins to form
and I can marvel at this sight.
One miracle I can perform
Predict the future from the past
extrapolate and then forecast.
(Poeticpiers/May 07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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