The Mystery

See the mystery surrounding 

The old cricket 

Even as the fall blossomed.

 

Happy to move through

The late day jumping a little.

Maybe speaking 

With other crickets

Or maybe not.

Feeling the stars climbing

Through ribs of sky

The old fiddler is ready to die 

Having played music bathed 

In moonlight on so many nights.

Playing in the final days 

There are moments of ecstasy 

Like the ones that they knew 

As a child when the green 

Notes first came.

 

The cooling has begun.

It begins to slow things.

Air a little thinner

Night a little darker

Stars a little deeper.

As the great song slows

In the cold mornings

Some break away.

 

Their deviant subset

Does not play for others.

They play for the red planet

Flashing in its arc.

Unknown to many

They also bow of companionship

With the souls of the leaves

That are slowly falling.

At sunset, the city crickets all listen

To the song of a country cricket who lived alone 

A thousand grass miles out

On the banks of an elder spring

And still played each star soaked night.

 

Even as they drink drops 

From the bent backs of grass

They know that the great peace

Will pull them from their bodies soon.

 

Now we are moving away

From the sun

And the warmth

Is sinking into the earth. 

Goodbye green days.

We will sit by the embers 

And sing songs while we wait 

Through the long darkness

For you to return.

.