Cicadas sing to me

in the morning

when I go out in the yard

 

they are my companions

serenading me vociferously

hidden yet heard

a choir up in the trees

 

oh I know

it is really the sound of

their contracting abdomens

but I like to think they are actually singing

in full voice

music to my ears

the waltz of the Cicadas

played every morning

expressing the joy of a new morning

the pure happiness of being alive

 

what a nice memory they leave

each summer recalled in

the rattle of their sound

 

how sad summer would be

without the chorus of Cicadas

how empty the day

without their vibrant song

 

without it

there would be little joy

without them

there would be no summer.