Late Night Haiku XLV

By Tim Butler | Posted at 22:45

CXXVIII. Crickets chirp softly.
The warm summer air flows 'bout
Their mournful old tune.

CXXIX. What is their secret?
E'ery summer, they chirp anew,
The old melody.

CXXX. Tell me now what is —
I only wish to understand —
What lingers. Again.


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