Ninety-First Entry, Coronavirus Poetry Diary
venturing
onto the tree-lined street
for the first time
my old friend sings
to a songbird's melody
the smell
lingers in São Paulo's air
row upon row
of wooden grave markers
waiting for names
NeverEnding Story, July 18 2020
A Room of My Own: Time Span Tanka
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in blossom rain
my pink-haired daughter laments,
*we'll all die one day...*
I reply, let's hope
the time span makes life unique
FYI: This could be read as ...