When I am in a place which has a traumatic history, things tend to be put into perspective for me.

As I stay at home, safe and sheltered from this virus as much as possible.

I offer this poem as a tribute.

The cherry trees are still blooming here.
Defying heat and cindered branch.
Tender roots reborn from ashes
To grow to thrive to take their chance.

The ginkgo trees are still standing tall
Their deep dark barks protective shell
Withstood the heat of raging fire.
A blackened landscape out of hell

This fertile soil is so rich with death
It feeds the roots of tortured trees.
So they survive to live again
While mankind is brought to its knees.

The ginkgo trees still stand in Hiroshima
Upon the river bank they sway
Where once they stood in fine profusion
The days before Enola Gay

The soil is rich with death in Nagasaki
One blinding flash and yellow light
Melting bones and future dreams
All hope and reason taken flight.

How many children died in Hiroshima
In that one blast of heat and flame?
Their schools turned into dust and ashes.
Who cannot feel a sense of shame?

And did their sacrifice fall on barren ground?
No lessons learned from times gone by.
War and bloodshed still persist
More pain will come more children die.

And while the trees still bloom in Nagasaki,
No one will find those buried souls.
They will not regrow to bear new fruit,
Or try to reach their treasured goals.

The cherry trees still bloom in Nagasaki.
They lend their shade and sweet perfumes.
For many sit beneath the branches
On sunny Sunday afternoons.

And as we sit we may try to meditate
Upon those horrors gone before.
That we may find a lasting peace.
With thoughts of love not thoughts of war.