In Haiku
t's always
The Moon
In the
Bucket.
Always the
China doll
With porcelain
Skin as pale
And white
As snow.
You never hear
About the tiny
Cracks, or the
Other signs of age.
In Haiku
All is timeless.
It's always
The Moon
In the
Bucket.
Never the
Razor’s bite
Or the sting
Of aftershave.
In Haiku
It's always
The Moon
In the
Bucket.
Always the
Ship dissecting
Mt. Fuji’s
Calm
Reflection.
