Two haiku about: the florist.
Here, at long last, is the view from where Kat and I were housesitting this weekend:
You can't quite see our house in that one, but if I'd thought to take a picture right at the railing you would. It's probably hiding behind that tree just to the left of the middle. Ah well.
He spends every day
arranging perfect bouquets
he'll never receive
* * *
He's never on time,
for he is always stoppingto smell the roses