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haiku poetry

against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
last midnight
birds against the april wind
the arches of the red bridge
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
it tells of good old times
is there anybody there
in the cloud-gray mornings
i make my shroud, but no one knows
a little peach in the orchard grew
by the rude bridge
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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