Women on those old
Japanese prints float
and bend like willows—,
and, thus, they strike—,
And no Western woman
could match this art
of such female samurai—
as if they had known
how to tame and slow
and store all time
into a haiku three-
line staying breath—,
That makes even
a man’s raging wrath
fall and gently land
as her cherry petal—,
Willow rustling softly
as they walk—they are—,
laying so low
the hardest wills—!
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