CicadaSong

As another summer day drips to an end,
With sun-soaked prescience all around,
Your lovely song abounds...
With tymbals blaring, you ignite the sun scorched sky,
And you hide so keenly, while you sing so mightily.
Your song has come to signify heat..
Almost as though the Sun.. She uses you as her instrument..
An instrument of fate.  A decidedly unfortunate need.
Desperate, but real.  Intense, helpless, and parched.  An unquenchable thirst.

So what exactly are you saying anyway, friend?
It is "friend," isn't it?
You speak so loudly and so clearly
I want to understand you dearly.
Which I suppose I do-
As your song has come to blend into the background of every summer eve...
I'm not sure how the days would sound either, without your familiar hum...
An exquisite concert every day, every night...

I thank you my friend, for your lovely song...