Poem By Anthony Fry
Songs, of exotic quiescent reincarnation.
Sing loud like a cicada, warm winds whistle.
Cicada resonating by abdominals, rejoice.
Sing in exited song, on a wind in the sky.
Gold bronze beetles, busy mate on branches.
Happy bird songs, are heard on the wind.
Female Cicada, inseminating her young.
Lending you voice, are the wind motions.
Another generation, hearken to you sing.
My purpose, is to listen to you on the wind.