Mar 2013
green locker
a new violin
barely fits
grass on knees sun too bright laugh
rush hour
crossing the street
she spills her coffee
discovery of a pond
she killed a frog
that fast
moving day—
children pick
at the curbside
a new violin
barely fits
grass on knees sun too bright laugh
rush hour
crossing the street
she spills her coffee
discovery of a pond
she killed a frog
that fast
moving day—
children pick
at the curbside
Gentle reminded that the plural of haiku is still haiku. Say "haikus" and I'll strangle you. (Same goes for senryu, but since it's a less common mistake I won't go over the strangling bit again.)
