山桜桃梅 is a rare poetic word read as ゆすらうめ (yusuraume), referring to a small, cherry-like fruit from the Japanese bush cherry tree. In the song, it appears among dry clouds and a rusted sign, adding a vivid, nostalgic detail to the remembered summer landscape.
This is a song about growing up while part of you stays stuck at one summer. It opens with a strange, lovely image: "海月のような月が爆ぜた" (the moon, like a jellyfish, burst). Fun fact for learners: 海月 literally reads "sea moon" and means jellyfish, so the line is a little pun on the moon itself.
The singer looks behind a bus stop and "あの夏の君が頭にいる" (the you of that summer is in my head). The details are tiny and specific: a 鳥居 (torii, the gate at a Shinto shrine), dry clouds, a rusty road sign, and 山桜桃梅 (Nanking cherry, a shrub with small red berries). They promised to look at the sky behind the bus stop when they got tired of playing, and "きっときっと覚えているから" (I'll surely, surely remember).
Then it turns bitter. "写真なんて紙切れだ" (photos are just scraps of paper) and "思い出なんてただの塵だ" (memories are only dust). He grows up "追いつけないまま" (never catching up), unable to say what he feels: "口に出せないなら僕は一人だ" (if I can't say it, I'm alone). One line uses the old spelling いこふ (to rest), which gives it a classical, poem-like feel.
The ending is my favourite part. The same idea flips: "口に出せなくても僕らは一つだ" (even if we can't say it, we are one). The title, ただ君に晴れ, is hard to translate: something like "just clear skies for you", a wish for sunshine on someone he never caught up with. He is still "君の思い出を噛み締めてる" (chewing over, savoring, my memories of you), and it lands as both tender and a bit sad.