Summer Cicadas
You grew young with the year
And sung cadence
As afternoons disappeared
And strolled back outside
With winter in their sleeves
Catching at the falling flowers
And crispening the leaves
Summer Cicadas
Praying on the holy trees
In sombre regalia
For the season's solemnities
Buried by an Autumn puff
Wrapped in gossamer gown
Till measures that you metered out
Pass beyond the sound
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