Golden-speared boughs pinned on dove grey sky. Misty rain, cloudy memories of forgotten picnics, plaid blankets, a long lost baseball. A lone walker whistles, a chipping sparrow adds melodic notes.
Fading wisp of moon
smiles, perhaps deciphering
my wandering thoughts
©2021 S. Michaels
As The Crow Flys – Haibun
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l i g h t room 