Cicada crawled out of the ground,
breathed the air, and looked around.
Up the tree with all the rest
he climbed, and there they got undressed.
Their wings unfurled; their colors changed.
And, in the trees, they all arranged
a symphony of clitter-clatter
in hopes a willing mate to flatter.
Cicada chirped; Cicada whirred
to no avail. The girls preferred
the others buzzing clear and laudable.
Poor Cicada was barely audible.
Giving up, he donned a frown.
He eyed the ground and started down.
They tried to warn him not to stray
where earth-bound critters hunt and play.
The warnings couldn’t change his mind.
He clambered down and embarked to find
a brand-new place to call his home.
He flicked his wings and tried to roam
but landed where the humans dwell.
He climbed a screen and sat a spell.
He slumbered through the summer night,
then woke to terror, full of fright!
Poor Cicada met his fate
without a friend, without a mate.
He never thought that he would meet
his end as canine’s tasty treat.
 
An ode to the all the cicadas that have fallen victim to our canine children. A more delectable, crunchy treat has never been invented by nature or man.