I heard the crickets tonight
their lingering voices the
passing thought of summer.
It was cool out and the sun
had set hours before and
the equinox drawing ever closer.
Less than two weeks to go
till autumn and summer pass
with a grin and a nod, cousinlike.
And so I mused for a while
on the strophe of the vernal season
and the antistrophe of fall.
Both voices echo, magnified
their resultant strains reverberating
magnavox, the ampitheater of my ear.
Sing on honest! Sing on uncolored!
unfurl your passing paean unchecked
but for a season by winters chill!
Only later wake, ope budlike eyes
and sing, the newness of spring!
But tonight together our words whisper.
Tonight I heard the crickets sing
their voices lingering there
summer passing thought.