A lonely cricket plays his summer swan song
Somewhere in a dark corner of his hideaway
The stridulation echos out to an empty audience
His cadence is backed by deep baritone croaks
Of one hundred wood frogs laying low in swamps
And down by the river coyotes howl and yelp
Calling to one another with urgency and excitement
They gather together in a pack and catch the scent
Moving slowly through the forest and open fields
They’re stalking their prey through tall, wet grass
That’s just begging for the thresher to cut it down
In the distance cars motor down an unseen overpass
Taking people to places the animals can’t understand
Driven on by a baser instinct, hunt, kill, rinse, repeat
While we lounge comfortably in our warm homes
With all the modern necessities we’ve come to have
It doesn’t seem to be often enough that we step back
And take the time to listen to the sounds all around us
Like a lonely cricket playing his summer swan song

4 responses to “Cricket

  1. Damn. Very nice!

  2. Nice imagery. Good sense of place and time.

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