memories or imagination,
neither nor either,
countless of times,
she thought of you,
both you were,
near and far,
beyond the cage of,
a spinning kaleidoscope,
lies a home,
which was and wasn’t hers,

every season’s deaths,
the little girl sent,
cherry blossom letters,
carrying petals of embrace,
to and fro,
and if time allows,
she’ll follow the wind,
the little ghost,
cries a rain of tears,
the river of happiness,
for she will,
return home soon,
and until then,
she’ll wait for you,
ever so patiently.