Lost in the sea, among the dunes of blue,
A drowning man was writing a haiku.

A poem hard to write and hard to read,
It was about our end, life’s last decree.

And why was he writing? A dying man—
It was his passion, and his only plan.

He swam to no avail, and tried to live,
But life would rarely listen and forgive.

He thought about his childhood, joyful days,
And if he’d live to see the morning haze.

But nightfall had arrived, this world he’d flee;
And truth he spoke at last, for I am he.