While watering the newly planted delphiniums, I came across this little guy, waiting for his wings to dry before he can take off and explore the yard. He's the first of this year's brood I've spotted. Soon the air will be filled with their summer song.
We know that you are royally blest
Cicada when, among the tree-tops,
You sip some dew and sing your song;
For every single thing is yours
That you survey among the fields
And all the things the woods produce.
The farmers' constant company,
You damage nothing that is theirs;
Esteemed you are by every human
As the summer's sweet-voiced prophet.
The Muses love you, and Apollo too,
Who's gifted you with high pitched song.
Old age does nothing that can wear you,
Earth's sage and song-enamored son;
You suffer not, being flesh-and-blood-less--
A god-like creature, virtually.
Click the pictures to get a close-up view.
Poem Source: Cicadas in Ancient Greece.