Mill Field

The Haiku is a funny bird
Which roosts not in a tree,
It looks around with wondrous eye
And whispers much to me.

He looks him up, he looks him down,
He looks around the fields and town,
And when his wondrous eyes do caper
It's time to grab a pen and paper.

For then the Haiku shows his skill
And sets to verse most anything;
I fold my hands and grateful bow
Then feed him fish or sometimes chow.