The Irony of Crickets

Sunday night ramblings. Inspired by my friend, Aaron.

One young cricket put his legs together,

And strummed the chirping chords of his natural violin,

He whistled and sang and serenaded his lady,

This was the cricket that loved his own din,

Across the stream old grandfather cricket awoke to the sound,

Frustrated and grumpy he looked all around,

Unable to see the young chirping cricket,

He whipped out his instrument and played it aloud,

Screaming across the river with all his might,

He yelled to the youngster to stop disturbing the night,

But the besotted youth could not hear the rage,

He thought only of his heart's desire and sang even louder,

Young as he was, he had no respect for the wisdom of age,

And he simply filled his lungs and played even prouder,

Soon the whole neighbourhood was bellowing at him,

And then the family down the stream was shouting too,

They were shouting at all the old crickets to keep quiet,

And stop their yelling for everyone's sake,

They hadn't even heard the youngster before grandfather cricket was awake,

Before anyone could make any sense of the noise,

There was too much noise to be made sense of,

And the whole forest was in an uproar,

Everyone telling everyone to be quiet because everyone's ears were sore,

And on the fringes of the forest stood a person,

Calm and pensive,

Smiling at the night he listened to her sounds,

To him the disaster in cricketville was merely a soft, delightful chirping,

And so it was that man thought the sound of a cricket was the sound of silence,

Little did he know that every night, the crickets were shouting in violence...

Reviews

[Lenahan]

Holla at your boi.

It's funny how you miss things when you're not concentrating. Here I was, thinking only of The Dark Sojourner and Born of Vivvid and here you are, with just a little more up your sneaky little sleeve.

WhataG.