Now for something different – – a poem I wrote one day after spending some time outside in the presence of those wonderful creatures (sarcasm) called cicadas (they are all but a distant memory now).

A constant droning sound hangs in the air:
Cicadas chirping on tree tops without any cares.
Manifesting every 10+7, thankfully all too rare.
Would I eat one? No thanks, I shouldn’t dare.
If one fell on me though, I doubt I’d be scared.

I just saw a happy bird feasting on one,
Napkin not required, it took flight when done.
Speaking of wing, these bugs can’t fly straight or run.
Poor and pitiable, are they all really that dumb?
I hate to say it but methinks their brains are full of dung.

of cicadas I am not the biggest fan
why does God allow them to roam the land?
Only God knows, the whole world’s in his hands
there are things we cannot fathom or understand
all I know is, I would never eat one, fresh or canned.