Haiku for the Crab
Sweet smirks turn sour-He must be getting tired,
Choosing fewer words
Still means an hour
For thoughts to be transpired,
Broken into thirds.
Must be the cancer,
I sit helpless as it feasts:
Dreaded spreaded crab.
*
Now he won't answer.
Less pain when asleep at least,
Even on a slab.
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