2019年10月09日

Haiku : Five Verses In Seven Days, the 369th. week

For my complaining wife, lucky for me, raining It's.
To stop raining, same as numbers of wooden door panels, they'll die.
Of the prostitute, of the bleached cotton cloth around her body, the edge is here.
Of an owl, at the deep inside of its eyes, feeling deflated.
After the end of a show, a sword drawn, in the bottom of night.

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