Studying The Cricket Poem by Romella Kitchens

Maybe I was a cricket or maybe the haiku-like wisdom and vantage point surmised in it's burgeoning or perhaps just the intent:

A cricket sings high up in a tree.

A cricket is seen on the ground in the green moss soil from the heavens.

A cricket longing for the dead cricket wife a crueler child has placed drying in a muddy mason jar... regard it's wings or how they wither with the last new days.

Wings...How they wither with the continuance of grief.