Winged Angels

My good cricket, you inspire me to write.
I love the way you vibrate, rub and trill,
Invading my mind throughout the day and night,
With memories of a most pleasing thrill.
 
Shall I compare you to a cloudless sky?
You are more melodic and more genial
As drought dries the great picnics of July,
And winter’s labours become menial.
 
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your leathery sheathed forewings.
Thinking of well-tuned forewings fills my days.
With thoughts wherein only happiness sings.
 
Now I must away with a wistful heart,
Remember my words whilst we're apart.
 
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