Sonnet to a Cricket
By Cinara
Sonnet to a Cricket The sun has slipped behind a wooded crest As colors turn to dusty rose and bronze The twilight always brings a loveliness To woods and hills and quiet country ponds The sounds, the visions, coolness all around And silent moments, then a cricket’s song begins to lead an orchestra of sounds as tree frogs, owls and night birds sing along Except for me, each sings his timely chants The chorus of the night in eerie drone I contemplate my insignificance A silent human standing here alone Among us all, though, only I usurp Aesthetic pleasure from a cricket’s chirp Written February 12th, 2002 © on Feb 11 2002 10:17 PM PST 0 • 10
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"Sonnet to a Cricket..."