Late Night Haiku XVII

By Timothy R Butler | Posted at 5:56 AM

XXXXVII. Anticipation,
A rushing stream runs by me,
Where do those waves go?

XXXXVIII. Thoughts drift like a kite,
Quiet, lest I stir the night,
Lower from this great height.

XXXXVIX. A fish once read Twain's
Huck Fin. He never finished.
He had finite time.

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