The Cricket

I wrote this poem for American Literature class when my teacher instructed us to go out into nature without technology and write something. I sat outside under the moonlight for half an hour in the cold with a candle for light and warmth...I've always wanted to do that. I can't say it was as comfortable as I imagined, but of course I was pushing the deadline and didn't have much time, so I was trying to force the creativity out of myself. This is all I got after Mom mentioned a crying cricket next to us in the back yard and how lonely he sounded. Enjoy. ^^ 


As the red and yellow hues of fall fade away
The cricket's lonely last call is heard
Throughout the freezing night he searches
Is there not anyone left to hear him sing?

Who will notice this talented musician?
He spent his summer singing for the one,
Now the winter wind has come
The evenings are passed in quietness

Each open door has slammed shut
Chances lost, misjudged time
He reflects on his past and cries
Is there not one who finds me lovely?

He does not call for complicated love
With no expectations he comes
He knows their time will be short
But love is not dictated by the hand of a clock

Nor can the changing places of the stars
Determine when one may love another
If love changes, he does not
Crying endlessly throughout the freezing night

-Argentia