they fall like a strange red bird in a old snare
they fall like a strange pink koi in an old net
like a shadow of a Cherry blossom on a stagnant pool
like a dying pearl in the depths of the East China Sea
like Akiko Futaba singing forever beneath her casement
these hibakujumoku (a-bomb trees) leaves falling on
Hiroshima seventy seven autumns since the flashing sky.
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