Cicada speciosa, from The Natural History of the Insects of India, H.G. Bohn, London, 1842
Digital image courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library
I have built myself an echo chamber
I’ve made myself a fog horn
strung the guitar of my vocal chords and
filled my lungs with air enough to scream
there are years of things to tell
with my ear to the ground I know so much
I want to share these secrets with you
before the season turns me to dirt
that you forget me when I’m gone
would hurt if not for this skin
I’ve forged in a crust of earth
my only sadness is that
no matter how loud I sing
you will manage to drown me out
and turn my beautiful voice
into nothing more than a drone