at my gate

the hoarse frogs

keep singing

  

A loyal, tired warrior, 

standing, waiting, listening, with his faithful friend. 

He, by the beautiful white stallion, 

looks past the remains of the broken gate.

The battle is won?

Or is it, 'one' is still standing.  Barely.

Hoarse, from calling...

are any of my wounded brothers, alive?

Glance over here,

and see tearful eyes, seeking yours.

There was just one.

Who quickly cast off

his heavy sad helmet.

And stands away from the fallen.

You both shall sing again...

on another day.

Issa Haiku