And on - till the end of the story |
Cicadas chirp, cicadas call They can be heard so far away Cicadas in chorus, all day long Through the merry month of May. There is a heatwave on But the cicadas sing Their voices can't be stilled for anything. Cicadas loud - never soft A hundred and seven decibels (Like baby Billy cooing after too many cookies are crumble!!) Cicadas sing, cicadas dance Cicadas fly, cicadas prance Cicadas hide if you approach Never taking a chance Bur in seven years, maybe ten Cicadas lay down, never to rise again The end of the story everyone knows Cicadas die - because life's river flows Like every living creature upon the planet Cicadas have a life span, and it Goes against nature to prolong it much So after a life well lived, welcome death's touch If a cicada couldn't sing, if it couldn't fly It would no longer laugh, just sit and cry So it is with humans too, If we couldn't do what we were born to So I wonder about modern medicine Which keeps organs running when they're done in A pacemaker when the heart doesn't work A stent or two when arteries shirk And all along the human being Is dying within, and is seeing Emotional damage that pills can't reverse Holding on to life becomes almost perverse When the cicada can't be loud anymore Let it float gently to the other shore The cicada was meant to be loud Its voice stilled only on the golden cloud. |