In the whitest winter snow,
on the darkest withered branch,
there grew,
a blossom as red as blood.
I paused and held my breath,
to behold this sight,
a miracle,
in the land of black and white.
With gentle loving hands,
I reached out to touch,
my fingers,
to the satin petals light.
On the whitest winter snow,
a blossom as red as blood,
dead at my touch,
lost forever to the night.
Yaku 