They went to see the cherry blossom.
Its magnet drew them from their languor.
They met at Roihuvuori bus stop,
with springing step to garden sped.
They filled the streets with youthful chatter
about the Eurovision evening
and all the working week’s frustrations.
But when they got there, trees had shed.
And now they stood, not quite yet thirty,
aware that spell was somehow broken,
in them unwelcomely awoken
the thought that soon they would be dead.