Cicada's Call
Late, late on a summer's afternoon
closer to dusk than dark...
The breeze from the river reaches for you
like a familiar touch.
It feels satin smooth as it slips
over and around you so soft
All the while caressing your soul
as peace settles like a butterfly.
Late, late on a summer's afternoon
closer to dusk than dark...
Water cascades so cool and delicious nearby
flowing and purling it lulls the spirit
To tarry - if only a little while, just a little while
a cleansing promise for a day of strife
Washing away ripples of discord
freedom from the eddies of turmoil.
Late, late on a summer's afternoon
closer to dusk than dark...
Begins the call of the cicada
so very subtle at first
Just a slight disturbance of tranquillity
a reminder of other life nearby
A heartbeat in fluctuation it rises to a cacophony
a credence begging to be understood.
Late, late on a summer's afternoon
closer to dark now, than dusk...
The cicada's call has ended
a pleasant cadence left hanging in air
Its crescendo a sure summons to death -
completed it leaves a ring of victory to echo.
PJ Fin