Spring sprang green and lush
shade shadows appeared on streets
baby leaves birthed
Coasting on my bike
down my childhood summer street
Look, Mom, no hands, look!
A haiku is small
it has a five seven five
prison to live in
COEXIST: Poetry, Books, and Essays by Diane Vogel Ferri
Love that last one, about haiku being a prison for a poet, but instead of 6x8x8, you only get 5x7x5. Still, you fit a lot of life in that little space.
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