Driving down Route 1,
hearing chorus after chorus
of spring peepers,
for whom it must be like
one of those restaurants
where everybody talks louder and louder
until you give up trying to hear
the person across the table,
and just try to enjoy your meal,
we slow down at one of them,
roll down the windows,
listen in, and are glad
that they, at least,
keep on trying:
"I'm over here!"
"I'm over here!"
"Pick me!"
"No, me!"
"I'm over here!"
"Pick me!"
"Pick me!"
while, yet again, we get to enjoy
this delicious, springtime feast.
Scott L. Barton
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