It's May of twenty twenty one,
And this cicada bug knows that
My seventeen year 'sleep' has run.
It's time to change my habitat.
I burrow out from underground,
And start to buzz my call to mate.
Once a suitable has been found,
I do my duty and then wait.
I hang out for a month or so,
And then it's time for me to die.
Underground my offspring will go
For seventeen years - who knows why!
Trillions of us will come, then gone -
The cicada phenomenon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem