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