Music On a Summer Breeze
Through the highlands, you can hear the pipes drone.
Every note, riding on a crisp, morning breeze.
In-between, the piped notes; you hear the drum beats.
I go to bed each night, completely beat.
But, I’m often kept awake by the cricket songs and bullfrog drones.
Though the stream’s not close; their music’s carried on a breeze.
I do wish falling asleep, despite their music, were a breeze.
Old bullfrog won’t stop his throaty beats.
His voice, like the pipes, a loud, baritone drone.
Droning notes on a summer breeze,
need good timing like drum beats.
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