Nicholas Sanders

The blossoms that ever bloomed in the Meifu
Drifted in the likeness of snow that night.
There was a lone man walking amidst the falling blooms.
The air alight with a soft glow of moon,
And the smell of the sweet blossoms.
The black cloak waved in the gentle breeze,
Dark hair concealing his eyes.
His pale skin stood out like white porcelain in obsidian.
At his feet a thin ribbon of water quietly flowing,
Behind him a gnarled, aged Sakura tree,
Scarred from the past by his hands,
Always a silent friend to him in the stillness of the night.
Mystery is a shroud of protection
Ever enveloping this man.
Many, many years of pain and duty have followed him
Never may he be rested.