Poetic Scribbles #3

CRICKETS

A slow grinding hum,

From nowhere they come.

In darkness they play,

To the tune of yesterday.

The air carries thickets,

With the unfriendly sound of crickets.

Left sitting alone,

It's a way too common tone.

A trickle of sadness,

Filled with a hint of madness.

In darkness they hum in defiance,

Crickets play to the sound of silence.

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