I miss Kentucky, I miss the sound of the cicadas, and I want to come back from time to time.
Counting stars by candlelight all are dim but one is bright; the spiral light of Venus rising first and shining best, from the northwest corner of a brand-new crescent moon crickets and cicadas sing a rare and different tune.
I work even in the middle of the day, in the full sunshine, and I enjoy it like a cicada.
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