The long days of summer allow me time To cut the grass late into the evening. I am accompanied now by This orchestra of Insects. My own cicada Serenade. To many an annoying din Of white noise. To be shut out with Closed windows. 5, 13 maybe 17 years Waiting to Sing out loud, called To the sunset. Every tree around me Its own ensemble Rising and falling Almost as one. It starts in the elm. Then fading, The ash takes up the Rolling line. Patience reveals the Patterns. Not of seconds but Minutes and hours. By the honey locust's Encore, the grass Is done and the song Fades into the night.
(c) 2012, Norman Dziedzic Jr.