“When the cricket's song is the only sound you hear,

how peaceful the whole earth seems."

― Marty Rubin

 

Under sequin-silver skies alight,

The crickets hymn sweet songs of night.

In soft green voice of hushed terrain,

and their quiet, tempered, smooth refrain,

I find chased my fears deep into ground,

and blossomed reminders of beauty found,

in quiet saunter, in grandeur’s embrace,   

in silent stares on starry space.

In awestruck gaze, in placid ponder,

freed from thirst for the romantic yonder.

For though fiery farces of joy exist,

on these the heart cannot subsist. 

So through cold rivered waters I sift

for the golden land of light un-eclipsed,

where the crickets sing among the green,

and the wand’ring soul ventures to unseen, 

invoking not slinkéd viper but soaring dove,

and traveling tall to the wilderness of love. 

...

I pray of you,

let land be.

Hear the crickets,

Humming from trees,

let them inspire thee.