Late summer

 

The late summer cricket

Alone tonight sings

A poem of space

Set free in voice

To rearrange both

Time and place.

 

Then summer stops.

Southern life.

So clear a call

That pauses all

In treble clef,

 

Gathering strength

To writ in sound

The past withheld

From under ground

 

 

Copyrighted by the author

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