The Passing


Sorrow, sadness, falling, sighing

Time, it speeds, it could be flying

Soon you will be heard no more

Soon you'll come to death's dark door.


Hissing, rattling, ocean waves

Soon you will have reached your graves

Hollow sky where once you sang

Voices through the woodland rang.


Silent, empty, quiet, still

Predators have had their fill

Still your progeny will sleep

Buried with the tree roots deep.


Soon come voices ordinary

Sounds we take as customary

Poignancy, relief, and more

Freed are we from deafening roar


Still you last in quiet wonder

Seventeen's a longish slumber

Constancy is Nature's strength

Light again you'll see at length.


Mark the years and turn the Wheel

Aging in our bones we feel

In my lifetime may I see

One more time when you break free!







(to see more on cicadas, go here)





Graphics by Ivy


Copyright © 2004-2008 Joanna M. Phillips