A Haibun Song

(December-January)) The brazen wind flows through the naked trees, where multitudes of scrawny fingers attached to stout limbs conduct the aria. the trill of the dawn awakes the sedulity a sense of fragrance Each perpetual morning a regimental instinct, drives along the day, when as the lone Bugler at his post, reveille resounds upon the streaming torrent. the chill of winter initiates spiral breath fruit rots on the ground The tempest from the Southern Ocean provokes nakedness within this place, destroyer to all that was verdant, yet an act of kindness? To ready life for spring to live once again. through the morning mist air is turning icy blue the tide rushes in © Harry J Horsman 2019