Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
The Drum-Song of the Cicada
The cry of the cicada
Gives us no sign
That presently it will die
- Basho
Cicadas are living drums singing the summer
Self-rattling so fast that the beats become a buzz
A whining buzz that intensifies the midday heat
Through thin-throbbing tympanic hypnotism
Rising and falling, the leaf-borne chorus
In defiance shrills against the peace
The blessed peace of leaves and lawn and sky
That properly belongs to summer days
Even so, summer days, all summer long
Are not complete without the cicada’s song
No comments:
Post a Comment