Summer Song

By Clara Blair

Sweet summer song,
In rhythmic waves,
Antiphonal,

The twilight buzz,
Cicada susurration,
Calls from tree to tree,

From oak to ash,
From elm to willow,
Call and response.

Like ocean surf,
Now here, now there,
They sing the season's passion.

In mating mode,
Their thousands yearn
To reproduce before they die.

Not sipping, like butterflies,
Not building, like bees,
Their task is simple:

Make life --
That's why they're here,
With their black lace wings,

Their jewel-green bodies,
Vibrating desire in the dusk,
Driven to union.

Their progeny will burrow
In the earth for years
Before emerging like their parents.

In plain brown wrappers,
They'll climb on a tree,
A car tire, a windowscreen.

If you're lucky, you'll see
A birth as splendid
As any butterfly's.

The brown husk will split
And the brilliant green form
Emerge with small, damp wings.

Then watch, as the wings
Find shape and launch
Another singer for another summer.

© 2004 Clara Blair