A blossom
made from fire and snow
broke the earth with a thunderous sound.
He found it
when the hills were old
and the grass was turning gray.
“What beauty!”
he cried, pierced with longing
for the blossom of fire and snow.
He was young,
impetuous like the spring,
plucking up the object of his love.
In a flash,
his hand was frozen stiff:
it stopped above the slender stem.
The blossom
turned to crystal glass,
and the boy wept in his grief.