Come round all
You hard-of-hearing
Stalwart comrades: Praised be
The cicadas’ crazed
Ear-thrumming drumming
Anthem that in fits and starts
Cranks into high gear
Its deranged, fair weather song,
For it shall stutter to a halt
Before we know it—
That incessant, insistent rallying
Cry that pierced our humdrum existence
All those long summers past
Coming, going, gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment