the little dog barks
to tell his tale
and we all sit
in our apartments
like bees in a hive
and listen.
the dog's high voice
rises and falls
he yips fast
when conveying
some thrilling concern
and slows
as he draws near
to a close.
the birds sing back and forth
and you can hear
both sides of their story
both the gutter
and the glory
a droning buzz
has no response
the poor cicada
is all alone
and all we hear
is half the song
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