A Deadman’s haikus

Some halfway up the limestone wall,
All alone, a speck of gold,
To the eye, no more than mold.

Lands not found in ancient maps,
Life bearing?
Perhaps.

The lonely tree outside my home,
Old, frail and tortured,
The world’s last orchard.

A wedding ring’s jade,
Rage trapped in a cage,
From cradle to the grave.

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