the steam rising from roofs
and my African coffee
I normally have the bones of the poem nailed before the end of the day, but I found this one tough. I grow vegetables on an allotment, so I was pondering the possibilities there last night. I even asked my youngest daughter (6) what she thought of when I said "bean."
"Mr Bean" came the reply, but couldn't work one out here without writing a desk haiku.
Luckily it was a clear cold night last night and the final pieces fell into place on my way into work
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