Sean Starr

Artist, Creative Director, and Author

The Cricket

I hear him outside

the delicate musician plays

afternoon has turned to twilight

the old hen is cooking

Preparing her perfect recipes

"what is this old man doing?"

crawling on hands and knees

if our children weren't grown

they would be laughing right now

I can hear you little one

show me your legs

if these eyes weren't failing

I would have spotted you by now

my ears are still keen

and I hear you my friend

Thank God for the hedges

that are hiding me now

the neighbors would say

"the old man has gone mad"

I hear you little singer

I know you are here

our lady is calling

we are running out of time

I see the leaf moving

I know where you are!

my hands cupped around you

the game is over little one

the food is getting cold

let's take you inside

The hen has grown impatient

"where were you old fool?"

raising my finger in silence

preparing to explain

"your clothes are dirty...

and the food has grown cold"

Friend in hand

hidden behind my back

I lean forward and kiss her forehead

forcing her smile to the surface

Here is the little singer

her favorite of all creations

the face of the old hen

has transformed to a little girl

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