460. Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes. ~Carl Sandburg

A bee
staggers out
of the peony
17th century Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

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Midfield
attached to nothing,
the skylark singing.
17th century Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

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They don’t live long
but you’d never know it–
the cicada’s cry.
17th century Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

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I believe everything in nature to be Yahweh’s divine poetry in motion.

God did this so that they would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, though He is not far from any one of us. ‘For in Him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are His offspring.’ ~Acts 17:27-29

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