Summer Song


A mesmerizing music fills the air
on early August evenings when the whir
of plump cicadas hiding everywhere
among the twilit trees begins to stir,
and crickets click percussively and peek
their rasping, backward-bending knees above
the grass before, disturbed, they spring and seek
a safer shady spot to sing their love,
while all the rhythms start to rise and blend,
a syncopated symphony of sound,
cacophony so vast you hear no end
because the moving soloists abound,
and this crescendo seems to grow until
at dawn their instrumental bodies still.

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