2017年08月30日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 279th. week

Of Pont Mirabeau, a posthumous child, to see yesterday.
Against the moon with his back, on his tiptoes running, a male goes.
Putting on aslant, grilled meat balls on three sticks, so lonely it seems.
To have turned a blind eye to, with her fingers, ahead a cigar.
A solution to there is, of an utter stranger, on the canvas.

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