Why do birds and insects sing so
Effortlessly, without command,
As though they don’t care if they’re heard?
They tell us something we don’t know
And never try to understand.
I’d ignore the babbling catbird,
Perhaps, if I knew what he said.
The cardinal says “I am red.”
The cricket can’t seem to shut up
Lest I approach and interrupt.
The cicada’s incessant whir,
Like the blare of a small Klaxon,
Is intense and irregular,
An urgent call to inaction.
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