Cicada

Tiny music box
Choir of wandering souls
of the mid-western backyards
in still, warm evenings
As many as the stars
You sing to
Moonlight glints
on your shellacked hull
you often leave behind
under porch railings
Tune up your stringed lyre
to a slow waltz
perfect for
gavanting lightning bugs
who light up tall
summer grass like christmas
Awaken the coyote to a sweet chord
Hush the happy children
tired from the noon-day sun
and will their eyes to droop
Your ngihtly performance
cascading through
deciduous woods
hushing them with
lullaby.

Author notes

I misss the cicadas of Illinois. They don't like it here in ole' Cali. Dunno why. Maybe just too hot sometimes, but I miss their lovely droning.... *sigh*