When Cicadas Sing......

(sonnet # CXLVI)

CXLVI


....It's truly summer time, all hot and dry,
Dull, boring too. It's then I hate life; few
Or no sweet mem'ries 'rise whenever through
The bright warm day I hear their rasping cry,
Incessent drone that kills joy, dunno why,
Excepting in my mind's eye dread scenes do
Revive as childhood's weary times renew
Their mis'ry, haunting briefly, e'en now nigh.
'Tis prob'ly August in the eighties or
A holiday mayhap, and I can see
The empty park save our small group, no more;
The grassy plot, tall pine trees, street lights three?,
Bare parking lot, and we are waiting for
My parents, party o'er....is that the key???!

08Jul11