Where the Crawdads Sing
Just past far as you can go,
yonder, where the crawdads sing,
out beyond time’s ebb and flow,
festival is full in swing.
Bullfrog’s on the tympany,
joined by pileated drums.
Katydids join company;
bold and bright, the bayou hums.
River Daughter glides the marshes,
carried forward by the song.
Haunting, her harmonic partials
rise up high above the throng.
Time to sleep, my lovely children,
lay your heads upon my breast.
Hush, a blanket, mutes the bayou,
safe and snug in slumbered rest.
Morning breaks in warm orange glow,
yonder, where the crawdads sing.
Casting off their bedtime clothes,
festival is back in swing.
—————
for the Feel Free Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sara Kendrick
written on 12/20/22
[ Quote 6 ]
Copyright © Jeff Kyser | Year Posted 2022
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