Untitled (Poem In The Style Of Emily Dickinson)

It's always black
When the sun drops down
Until the stars attack
The unaware sky

The moon creeps out
Leaving the blocking cloud
With the night now lit up
The crickets jump in a crowd

No violas, No violins
Only one instrument
The cricket’s crick
Music better than an orchestra

Everything good must end
And the frog knows this well
Some crickets flee, others defend
The crickets left to die in the end
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
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