Crickets
By the side of my window,
Where nightly breeze play now and then;
By the garden's jasmine row,
Crickets lie awake singing their mechanical anthem.
Shouldn't their homes be far away
From this city of polluted mortals?
Shouldn't they be settling in fine array,
Somewhere their song amazes, not startles!
Perhaps they lost the way to their abode,
That ushering, delicate, cool village that they lived in
That umbrella-like tree that they rode,
That mirror-like pond that they looked upon.
All they've left: who knows, in what complaint.
Hence they live, with me, in the city that I have embraced.
YOU ARE READING
The Drabble
Short StoryThe DRABBLE ... A drabble is a short work of fiction of around one hundred words in length. The purpose of the drabble is brevity, testing the author's ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in a confined space. Write a story in any ge...
