The singing of the cicadas fills my ears.
They are singing their last song
before the rain and the frosts come,
and they die.
Their children will slumber through the winter
and emerge next summer,
to sing their song again.
The song of their ancestors.
Their song of sweet vibrations
is a reminder to live now
as before we know it the seasons will change,
and we too shall die.
They sing of sun,
of heat,
of love,
of carefree life.
Let us sing with them.
Let the cries of our souls,
our essence,
be heard.
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