The Dying Cicadas

The Cicadas are Singing
Louder and Louder;
But no one sees them—
Invisible messengers they are,
Hiding behind leaves.

Their songs are ringing
Even more urgent now,
As their time is near—
Another conclusion of the year.

Can you hear?
In the echoing of these
Seemingly inexhaustible,
Dying Cicadas,
Distant yet vivid memories,
Of our Season
Soon-to-be-gone.

And are we, always unwary,
Startled, even a little—
To have come without a Choice,
To Seal
Another irretrievable Summer
Into just blurry dreams?