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Volume 40.3
Autumn 2009

 

sample haibun

 

Last Rites

“First time in twenty years he lost one,” his wife sighs. The old farmer in faded coveralls chugs past on a red tractor, his shoulders slumped. From a perch high in the front scoop, a black and white sheepdog rides along, before surrendering his seat to the motionless ewe, still heavy with her breeched lamb.

far from home —
through the twilight mist
a sheep’s bell


by Renée Owen

 

 

 

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