Middle of the night over there, early evening here... Nobody up and about? Then I’ll have to play by myself!
This miniaturism gets under the skin and could easily become compulsive. “Normal” verse begins to seem long and laboured.
bare apple trees...
still in my obstinate heart
spring strawberries ripen
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a wren drops frozen...
the bough she clung to sends
white wreathlets after
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while tired horses steam
Tonto drink from icy river:
Keemasabi same!
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