Solitary crickets, drone on
through the night’s deepest hours
about fall’s impending ascent
They tell poignant epic stories
they never quite finish
leaving last lines, for the winter sun
to write on fresh-fallen snow
The crickets hypnotic chirping, drowns out
the 12:07 am train, passing unnoticed
except for the squealing rails, stretching
from one end of the night to the other
Summer died suddenly, but gloriously
like the fuzzy green caterpillar, morphing
in one afternoon into a graceful butterfly
The crickets just do what they do
without being asked, or rewarded
They sing in a voice, heard by the turning leaves
the fading grass, swelling pumpkins
who otherwise might miss their time
When I was young, I was too busy
to hear the crickets sing
Now autumn rises up in me
as I ready for the winter sun
to write again last lines
in the fresh-fallen snow
Poetic Alchemist 
Kai: Thank you and I hope your birthday was wonderful.
absulutely pretty
Kathy: Thanks for stopping by. Hope you’re well.
beautiful!
Polona: Thanks. That it is…
great sense of passing time…
love it!
Dan: Thanks. Too cool. I listened. Really beautiful. You got it!
Nice one!
Check this out:
http://www.discoverhealingmusic.com/JimWilson/GodsCricketChorus_JWilson.asp
Floots: Thanks. I’m glad that came through in the poem.
what a good one
and that touch of repetition makes it so lyrical as well as emphasising the temporal/cyclical aspect
loved it
thank you