Sunday, 29 November 2020

A Poem a Day (315): Murmurs and 2 more haiku

 

Murmurs
 
Revolving pictures
murmurate and separate.
A burst of starlings. 
 
 
 
Wither
 
Morning mists curl back,
cursing dead skies. Worn-out husks
yawn for pure water.
 
 
 
Begin
 
Bright buds squeeze open,
sticky to touch, velvetine
perfect small marvels.
 

 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, November 29, 2020

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