The Crickets

The Crickets

It’s early morning
Still dark and quiet 
And Baltimore is sleeping
Even the birds.

But the song of the crickets
Amongst the silence
Is constant
And this is the music
Of early morning.

A constant drip
of water nearby
Punctuates
The only song you hear.

But not long after that
The sirens begin to hum
And this song will continue
Long after the song of the crickets
Is buried.

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