I WAS BURIED

Breathing at last, it has taken me and others such a while to survive the correct penetration proceedure into Hotspot. Seems I can now take in the refreshing airs of poetry cum haiku. Nay, even add my salivaric syllables directly without Henry nor David digging them out and displaying them in their hot spot. Obviously, this calls for a celebratory offering:

buried, I come up, in spring,
like other budding hopes
nevertheless

Addendum: The above post was written a few days back out of the sheer joy of being found and redirected to the Place to Be. That joy overcame me, caused me to swoon, and lead my fingers to dance o'er the keys to the music swirling in my head. As such, I am not fully responsible for them (the above words, not my fingers). I assume the EDIT flag nailed to this post means that some souls feel the above was at the very least, unpoetic. Could be. After all, what is poetry? But, anyway, I now state in gray-and-white that no offence was intended, merely a little fun. But, more than poetry, humor is more dangerous in Correct Society. Poets are usually considered to be just a bothersome spot on the face of society, whereas humorists are scrubed away wherever they can be found (viz.: Danmark of late). Glad to be a harmless poet.