Cicadas Poem by Charles Hancock

I awoke late in the morning
The radio announcer told
Of a brutal storm warning

Ice, snow, and arctic cold
I long for balmy summer days
For the winter has grown old

I want to feel the sun's blaze
And watch cicadas fly around
In the late afternoon haze

And hear their quirky sound
Nothing says summertime
Like when they abound

The sides of trees they climb
And shed their nymph mould
So they can enter their prime

What richness will summer behold
It seems like a month of Sundays
Since the afternoon sun has been gold