turning a corner,

the redness of poppies

field after field

-o0o-

trailing in the stream

the willow branches gently

sway in the current

-o0o-

childhood memory,

waking to the sounds and smells

of gaslit breakfasts

-o0o-

between each wave

crashing on the rocks -

a moment's respite

-o0o-

at our store of nuts

for the birds - a tiny mouse

scurries away

-o0o-

unconsecrated,

the unmarked graves of paupers

hidden behind trees.

-o0o-

the old house empty

our tiny footprints still there

on the concrete path

-o0o-

three tin openers

lie mangled - defeated

by a can of soup

-o0o-

Sadly, I part from you/Like a clam torn from its shell/I go, and autumn too

MATSUO BASHO

-o=0=o-

UPDATED EVERY SUNDAY