It was springtime.
The girl walked through the blossoming almond trees.
The heavy schoolbag on her back she did not feel.
Countless delicate pink petals covered the old, worn-out paving stones
on the path winding around the church.
A carpet of blossoms, a sea of blooms.
She did not take it in.
The spring wind blew the petals swirling from the trees.
On bright sunbeams they danced through the air like butterflies.
A dance of death – dying, just like the child.
Quietly the petals covered over the child’s soul, like broken-off butterfly wings.
A small, cramped hand opened hesitantly and stretched shyly towards
the falling blossoms.
A gentle breath of pink resurgent life laid itself delicately in the child’s
little hand and there it died.
Then it was over.
A dark cloud moved in front of the sun, the world turned grey.
Then the girl went to where she lived.
Translation: Fr. Jim Corkery SJ.