Broad rivers wide open. Wild erratic winds from the northwest, temperatures dropping. Winter’s last roar, March going out like a lion. A bluejay calls in the woods.
Full moon soon waning
magnolia must blossom
keeping bright promise
©2021 S. Michaels
As The Crow Flys – Haibun
image: tokkoro.com
I can relate to this poem. The cold wilds are roaring.
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