I don’t think this poem needs much of an introduction . . .
Rowena Bastin Bennett
The little songs of summer are all gone today.
The little insect instruments are all packed away:
The bumblebee’s snare drum, the grasshopper’s guitar,
The katydid’s castanets — I wonder where they are.
The bullfrog’s banjo, the cricket’s violin,
The dragonfly’s cello have ceased their merry din.
Oh, where is the orchestra? From harpist down to drummer
They’ve all disappeared with the passing of summer.