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Fall Cricket

To you, O small black armored voice,
The frost means death–no other choice
ls offered you. But human folk,
With all their blessings, still invoke
The Gods to curse their fates, their plight,
Til all too late they see the light,–
Too late to change, too late to fight.

Your short life, then, is more than aught;
This needful lesson have you brought:
A cricket rather would I be
Than man too blind the truth to see.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 24, 1943

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