Cicada Time

Sister sun is high

Grass is the color of straw

Temperatures have risen

to near 100 degrees

Not only do I hear Jenny Wren

trilling her joy

But now I detect Cyril Cicada

adding his percussive passion

It is that time...

That time of summer

When Mother Earth steams

Her children perspire profusely

Yet there remains a quiet satisfaction

Perhaps things are

as they should be after all...

It is Cicada Time!

Diana J. Hill

Lititz