This haiku is from my friend Ellie. She sends haiku to me with stories of her cats, invitations and reviews of books that someday I'd like to read.
Fragile minute hand
tinier than a needle
pushes me along.
2 days ago
Grandpa's wooden sign hung on the oak at the top of the hill for thirty years. "What is kale?" I finally asked.
This haiku is from my friend Ellie. She sends haiku to me with stories of her cats, invitations and reviews of books that someday I'd like to read.
Fragile minute hand
tinier than a needle
pushes me along.
3 comments:
Sometimes the sweeping
minute hand, forgotten,
attains a goal, unseen.
Risa - Wow!
It's much much too late
to respond with a haiku
half as beautiful.
Too late: a theme
poets love to try,
dreaming tall grass
heavy with wind.
:)
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