Yesterday there came to me <br />from a green and graceful tree <br />as I loitered listlessly <br />nothing doing, nothing caring, <br />light and warmth and fragrance sharing <br />with the butterfly and the bee, <br />while the sapling-tops a-glisten <br />danced and trembled, wild and willing <br />such a sudden sylvan shrilling <br />that I could not choose but listen <br />Green Cicadas, Black Cicadas, <br />happy in the gracious weather, <br />Floury-baker, Double-Drummer, <br />all as one and all together, <br />how they voiced the golden summer. <br /> <br />Stealing back there came to me <br />as I loitered listlessly <br />'neath the green and graceful tree, <br />nothing doing, nothing caring, <br />boyhood moments spent in sharing <br />with the butterfly and the bee <br />youth and freedom, warmth and glamour <br />while Cicadas round me shrilling, <br />set the sleepy noontide thrilling <br />with their keen insistent clamour. <br /> <br />Green Cicadas, Black cicadas, <br />happy in the gracious weather <br />Floury-bakers, double-drummers <br />all as one and all together--- <br />how they voice the bygone summers!<br /><br />Roderic Quinn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-cicadas/
