A Sunday Twofer

The Sick-heart Bill

Oh, do we cull them, cull them, cull them all?
O boy-o, boy-o, boy-o all 

Male fortuna, you got that right, Billy O
Legs a-folding, to the last to the last to the last amen 

Pity’s the thing, a thing to be honed
Then given a chance we’ll dance until dawn 

Oh, cull them, cull them, cull them all
O boy-o, boy-o,
boy-o
all  

Haiku #25

Beneath the apple

blossoms, Siddhartha asleep—

above, bees abuzz.