Some Quasi-haiku

EARLY

Morning dew                                                                                                                                        The golden blood of trolls                                                                                                       Surprised and slain by day.

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MORNING

Early                                                                                                                                                     The empty streets                                                                                                                              The long shadows                                                                                                                              The ruined moon                                                                                                                        Already half gone.

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GHOST STORY

A train in the night.                                                                                                                       Steam whistle.                                                                                                                                    The room turns cold.

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CRUELEST MONTH

It’s the same south wind that blew last year,                                                                              That tempted monk-brown April to lustful green.                                                                     Lost corn husks fly aimless, demented through air.

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WINTER

Dusk, a green bronze bell                                                                                                               West burnished bright,                                                                                                                 Rings ghost songs in the still frost.

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