Cicadas' Song
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The 13-year locusts fill the air with their mating calls.
A fine-spun shell clings to the weed
my arthritic fingers yank from soil
of the same drab tinge.
My ears ring
with the constant humm-m-m—
insistent joy—familiar music
from thirteen years past.
Invisible cicadas sing as they mate,
unaware of their fate,
unconcerned with the weight of time,
while my work-worn joints
made me painfully aware of mine.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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