The angel of happiness and spring
Look, she's there again. Who? The angel, of course. Where? Sitting under the wise cherry blossom tree. But I thought no one can go near it in less you're pure like a cherry blossom. She's an angel, she's more pure than snow and more beautiful than spring of course she can go near it. What's she doing? I don't know.
Hiding under the cherry blossom tree, curled up with knees to chest.
Head hung low hiding her sorrow-filled tears.
It's raining now, but she's still there.
Instead of cursing the rain, she's welcome it for it comforts her with its charming tune.
The rain is telling her stories again about of the forgotten passed.
She starts to sing like she always does to thank it for its wonderful melody, before it leaves.
Her elegant and enchanting voice cannot be compared.
Her long rose hair clings to her pale skin.
To her it's a lost friend joyfully hugging her.
It's dark when she goes, as she leaves, she always whispers
"Until tomorrow old friend, until tomorrow"
Flashing her forest-green eyes towards the cherry blossom tree one lasted time before disappearing, leaving cheery blossom petals in her place.
Where she goes nobody knows.
Some say she's a cherry blossom tree herself for her unnatural rose-colored hair.
Others say she's an angel who comes down to earth to talk to her old friends before going back to heaven.
In this little town in the fire country, she's an angel.
They hang up drawings of her in their stores, hoping that she'll come into their stores and grant them good luck, like she does with the poor and ill.
To them she's the angel of happiness and spring.