A Refugee of Poetry
musings on life and its many possibilities
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Eco-ku
in my dream...
green meadow breezes turn
windmills white
ancient trees--
each passing year brings a new
smoke ring
at the old pond...
a frog jumps into the sound
of oil slicks
meadow music...
humingbirds and windmills
whirrrr
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