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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required After years and years of pounding city streets, I turned my back away for one of those bush retreats, where gum, ti-tree and wattle; lovely natives of Australia, marched me into battle - with 'one bloody Cicada.' Now if your knowledge reaches for what a Cicada does, like camouflage among the leaves while shrilling calls of love. A shrill that drones and drives you mad while hidden out of site. You chase the curse all day and hear it in your sleep all night. 'One bloody Cicada' - somewhere in the trees, hiding in the foliage from one of my killing sprees, but I can't trace the shrill of that backyard peace time raider, so the war has just begun - with that 'One bloody Cicada.' What do Cicada's look like? Are they big, hairy and fat! I must be going stupid 'cause that's the neighbour’s Cat. Do they crawl; have long legs, move with a certain grace? Or was that a 'Huntsman' that just ran across my face. Scrambling like a Monkey, through foliage, limb and flower. Wasp and Bees are buzzing and that bug decides to cower. If I want to shut the mongrel up I've found the certain way, all I have to do is - perch here in the tree all day. Now I'm howling at the moon and pushed down on my knees. All I want to do is slash and burn and cut down all the trees. I'll do anything to find it. I will tear and rip or kill. But after fire, flood and poison, I can hear the mongrel still. 'One bloody Cicada' - somewhere in the trees, hiding in the foliage from one of my killing sprees, but I can't trace the shrill of that backyard peace time raider, so the war has just begun - with that 'One bloody Cicada.'
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