Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Tanka

The autumn wind blows;
I breathe in and I breathe out.
I prefer neither.
Rote becomes a ritual
when a sigh becomes a song.
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1 comment:

Bobbie (Sunny) Cole said...

if I haven't already told you, I really like this, Kid.

October 19, 2009 at 11:59 AM

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