The Lonely Cricket

There’s a lonely cricket outside my window,

Its mates now lost to the beckoning fall.

Does it sing to the wind or does the wind blow

To carry its soul in the notes of its call?

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It sings alone as the summer retreats,

The world deaf as stone to its longing for light

But maybe the wind, in autumnal feats,

Yet honors its life in the depth of the night.

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Lo! Lonely cricket, your symphony was heard

By my own lonesome ears and given a word!