crickets

I’ve a cricket in my house
Though I’m not quite certain where,
He seems to be quite wiley-
Hidden, but his music fills the air.

He sings and chirps and squeaks,
In the middle of the night,
Right when my brain is sleepy
And wond’ring if he’s alright:

Is he singing to his family
About his cavernous locale?
Or, perhaps, a longing, loving sonnet
To his winsome lady-love?

If we met one night in person,
I wonder what he’d say
Would he give me life perspective
From below and far away?

KCW, 2011
Please don’t steal my writing.

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