Walk beneath the trees quenched by a sudden rain,
In whose branches bell crickets ring and trill away,
The last of the cicadas sing a sinking sad refrain,
An insect paean to a summer soon to fade,
Its energy, heat, and humid passion will dissipate
Into a cooler season, where I guess I will wait
For the next exciting thing to come around,
Days pass so covertly, I don't even know the date.
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