As cicadas sing their songs,

High up in limbs of pecan, oak, ash and such,
And sun begins to grow,
Large and orange against distant horizons,
falling slowly to slumber,
Until darkness
Slowly rises on the hills .
Slowly creeps....finds me...finds me.
The choir changes keys
Crickets keeping time for stars'
Spinning dance until...
falling a light year or more,
Crashing silently in all their splendor.
Make a wish son.
Make a wish.
But, you see, the thing about wishes is....