December in bloom,
kissed by winds from the Azores:
Jack Frost in exile.
Father Christmas wilts
and casts his clothes from the sleigh:
yearns for good old days.
Smooth feathers, pond-drift,
so remote from Black Friday.
What then, your swan song?
https://sarahpotterwrites.com/2016/05/02/monday-morning-haiku-103-black-swan/