Blossoms, oh blossoms,
your lush, fleeting beauty sings
a craved silent song.
///
Old owl, wise old owl,
eyes ever vigilant and sly.
Unheralded shields.
///
Snow falls, white and dry.
Blossoms sing no silent songs.
Yet the owls remain.
///
In winter’s slumber,
Nimble rats, stomachs empty,
scavenge for blossoms
///
The wise owl strikes
So fleeting beauties may sing,
come the new spring rains.
///
But with new spring rain,
brings harvests of ancient oaks.
The wise old owl leaves.
///
The rats feast away.
Solely, their bellies filled on
bountiful harvests.
///
No lush blossoms bloom.
Astoundedly, the herds ask,
Where are the blossoms?
///
They yearn for wisdom,
from trees now gone, forever
But no hoots respond.
///
Upon barren fields,
fat rats preach, delightfully,
Our new Utopia!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N
I was going to do an analysis of this haiku series, but I would rather have you enjoy it as it is. Enjoy the secret poem buried within!
About the Creator
Matthew J. Fromm
Full-time nerd, history enthusiast, and proprietor of arcane knowledge.
Here there be dragons, knights, castles, and quests (plus the occasional dose of absurdity).
I can be reached at [email protected]
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.